

4 


\ 


I 

f 





9 





Q 


- ; 


• 


t 


\ 


% 


f 



4 


\ 

i ' 






/ ' 




{ •• 


s 

• ' 


r 



jt 



4 


*1 


, « 




s , 


^ I 


; • , V /, * ;• • * 

A ‘i •' ' ' > / 


^ . 


•1 


^ 


‘V 


\ 


\ ' 


W'*. 


** , '.V 


A A. 


i r * 

' « • 


j •- 



. ^ 


.. -j. .', 


» , 

4 

e. 


^ i 

- ^ . 


'■ 

v , 

' ' >. 


• .1 ^'■.- ^ . . • i 

I '.• ^ • •••' . ^ ' i", *.' *» * > , 


t 

* 


■v: 


■'.’ '■• V' . ' ^j' " r ’'O'iA v>jitt 

■ >■ . V.J '. ■ 






' •(, 
. > 


r : 


.,-r 


c 


I 1 




. ' r*; '^,‘R-' 


1 X 


A- 


; 5 

> 


< . '-i-* 


■5.v«‘:v 

• ‘ •■^''* ' ■' i' 

• *• 


' : .i- 


.4 


« b* 


' / 


. ^ 


' . V . ^ V li < * 
■1^ 


i 4 

* 




’ \ 


V' 

ijv* 



t 

•■V 


/ I 


. 1 




^ * 

AW-.V 

. r» - . . ^ ♦ 

\r-H' -r^ 


• ^ 




V ? I ' 

r- -VI, 



• 1 v' .r r - ; 

'. • c '* /, 


-r. — fiP 


tr. 


•• is 

V 


^ * 

V 





> \ • 
1 


•• V 
^ * 




* • 


* « ( 
» * 


» ' 


• r 


i 

» / 


•<: * 


; 4 





v*- 


•'.V' 



f 


I 


7 % 

-M kfl 


^4 t 




it 


s 


t 


k 


. ; % 

« 









t • 

/ 





t 




•< ‘ • 


V 




« 


* 





4 


\ 


\ 


• . t 




# 


I 


« 


«• 


A 


> 


h 


yu 

ii^x 

• 4 

I 

k 

I 

I# 


% 



I 


9 


% 


t 







.■^ ' 




I 







\ 





\ 


i 


> 


4 • 

4 ' 






t * 


*• 


4 


i 



9 





0 





kovatt* GonpANY> 

SI4 VE>aJ&V STRgg 




Vol. 9. No. 473. Dec. 18, 1884. Annual Subscription, $.30.00. 

CHRISTMAS 

STORIES 

Told in a Happy Home (Hazelnook) in 
Hew England 

BY 

HARRIET FARLEY 

Entereil (it lie Post Office, N . Y.. as secomi-cbiss matter. 
Copyright, ls>4, by -ohn \V. Lovull Co. 




neat OLOTH BINDlltG for this volume can be obtained from any bookseller or newsdealer, price 15c1 






THIS IS THH GHHUmH! 


Sold only In bottles 'with buff •wrappers. See that slip over cork Is 
unbroken. Our trade-mark around every bottle. 

la Sickness Every Drop is IVorth its Weight in Gold. 



I T snbdnes and heals all kindN of Inflammation, Piles, Blind, 
Bleeding, or Itching, Ulceks, Old or New Wounds, Bruises, Burns, 
Toothache, Earache, Sore Eyes, Scalds, Sprains, the greatest known 
remedy. Catarrh, Colds, Diarrhcea, Rheumatism, Neuralgia, has cured 
more cases than anything ever prescribed. Diphtheria, Sore Throat, use it 
promptly, delay is dangerous. Controls Hemorrhages, Female Com- 
plaints, Bleeding Nose. Mouth, Stomach, Lungs, or from any cause, stopped 
as by a charm. It is called the Wonder op Healing. We have an avalanche 
of testimonials. Send for our book (Mailed free), it will tell you all about it. 
Prices,— Small, 50 cents ; Medium, $1.00 ; Large, $1.75. 

POND’S EXTRACT CO., 76 5th Ave., New York. 

Used externally and internally. It is unsafe to use any preparation except 
I t?ie genuim with our directions. ^ 



CHKISTMAS STORIES 


TOLD IN A HAPPY HOME {HAZELNOOK) 
IN NEW ENGLAND 


BY 

HARRIET FARLEY 




NEW YOEK 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO]VIPANY 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street 



TZ2 

eX 


COPYKIGUT, 

1880, 

25Y R. WORTIIINOTON. 



TFOWS 

printi.no ano bookbinding company, 

NEW YORK. 


S’ y-o 



YOUTHFUL SPIRIT 


OP WHATEVEa AGE, 


THIS LITTLE .VOLUME 


IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 


AUTHOR, 







CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTORY. 

Paoi 

’Christmas Mom at Hazelnook, 9 

(gniaing fmi. 

Christmas Eve at Hazelnook. A Floral Allegory, 18 

The Fairy Bridal, 20 

\ 

(gDBEiug iBtnull. 

A German Tale, 34 

The Enchanted Horse, 36 

(gDBEiEg 'fjlirJt. 

A Schoolboy’s Fantasy, 69 

The Clerk of the Weather, 63 

(fDBning /nnrtji. 

Spanish Astrology, . . 70 

The Mystic Lake, 

inittiig /ifllj. 

An Oriental Tale, 102 

The Golden Demon, 104 

I* 


7 


8 


CONTENTS 


(IguBning lixtii, 

Indian Legendary Lore, 123 

The Spirit Bud, .... .... 127 

(gntniiig |EDEiitj[. 

A Dutchman’s Dream, 145 

The Vial Imps, 149 

ignEiiiug (0ig|)tli. 

A Swiss Tradition, 163 

Petite and La Mennai, 164 

(gntning 

A Mother’s Memories, 177 

Willie’s Star, . . 178 

iStiEiiing ^Eutli. 

New England Superstitions, .... 187 

The Spectre Housewife, 195 

Wardrobe Witches, 201 

fflEHtiig (ElEnEiitji. 

A Milesian Myth, . . 212 

The Fairy Bogtrotter, 214 

(EntEiiig '(Einilftji. 

A Highland Legend, 234 

The Loch and the Linn, .... 236 


HAPPY HOUKS 


INTRODUCTION. 

CHRISTMAS MORN AT HAZELNOOK. 

“A MERRY Christmas ! ” “A merry Christmas!^ 
was the mingled shout of many voices, as the 
headlong Katie and her younger cousins burst 
into the breakfast room. 

“A merry Christmas ! ” “A merry Christmas ! ” 
was shouted loudly in return; for hot coffee and 
buckwheat cakes had gathered a prompt party 
around the extended table. Ben, who prided 
himself upon being a scrap of a wag, prolonged 
the cry, with a forestalment of future greetings, 
such as, “ Happy New Year,” “ Gay Twenty- 
Second,” “ Bright April Fool,” “ Pleasant May- 
Day,” “ Glorious Fourth,” and “ Bountiful 
Thanksgiving.” 

“ O Ben,” said Katie, “ how shameful, not 
to leave others a chance ! But I ’ll be even with 
you on the philopoena! ” 


10 


INTRODUCTION. 


“ Stop threats and prophesyings,” exclaimed 
Ben ; “ and now, Phil, let us compare, not 
notes, but stockings. I subtracted, this morning, 
from mine, a multiplication of mysteries, viz., a 
billetdoux in a dear little elfin chirography, — 
I wonder if Charlotte, in her trippings to the 
fairyland, has ever met the donor, — a walnut 
witch, flannel tomato, agate heart, — hard, like 
mine, as a nether millstone, — and a porcelain 
pear ; that’s for an eatable.” 

“ Wondrous gifts, and yet well befitting the 
time and place they were found,” said Charlotte ; 
“ but Evaleen will be more likely to unravel, not 
your stocking, but its mysteries, than myself.” 

Evaleen blushed. “ Charlotte is far more be- 
witching than I ; and far more au fait to the 
fays. She must not try-to drive you from the 
first scent.” 

“ She cannot drive me from this last,” said 
Ben, sniffing over the fragrant coffee ; “ but, 
cousin Lottie, was it thou? If so, I enjoin upon 
thee, for pains and penalties, to mend the holes 
said wonderments have made.” 

“ He made them himself,” exclaimed Phil ; 
“ and there I lay smothering with laughter to see 
him shake his stocking with his finger ends, as 
though he thought ‘ three blind mice ’ had missed 
their way, and taken refuge there, though all the 
corns were gone. I verily believe he picked a 


CHRISTMAS MORN AT HAZELNOOK. 


11 


hole in the toe with his penknife ere he ventured 
to investigate in any more incautious way.” 

“ Bravo! well done, Phil,” said Ben ; “ I see you 
can beat any one of us telling a story, and I hope 
we shall be favored with one this evening ; to 
test your imagination, it is not to have the 
slightest foundation in fact.” 

“ Ah, that is Ellen’s perquisite. She is to 
have one, if any body does, though I did not 
promise, as Charlotte did. But give me time to 
prepare, and I will see what I can do,” said Phil. 

“ You need none. Your impromptu efforts 
are incomparable,” returned Ben. 

“We are to have a sleigh ride after breakfast ; 
then comes dinner ; and then Ellen, Katie, Char- 
lotte, & Co., with their story.”' 

“ I promised the children a moss rose for to- 
night, and have only been able to prepare one 
from black ink and white paper,” said Charlotte. 

“ With the help of your obedient genii, I doubt 
not it will bloom most gracefully,” said Ben. 

“A story?” asked Ellen, with her soft blue 
eyes growing larger and brighter. 

“ A fairy legend,” returned Charlotte. 

“ Then mine shall betake itself to the deepest 
dungeons of my brain,” rejoined Phi]. “ Make 
way always for the ladies.” 

“ We will have yours to-morrow night,” said 
Evaleen. 


12 


INTRODUCTION. 


“ And Ben shall give us one the next evening,” 
said Phil. “ But first, Fred, let’s know what St 
Nicholas stored away in your lower casement.” 

“ Why, have 1 at last a call to speak unto you ? 
Well, then, my foot early scraped acquaintance 
yith a funny Little volume of ‘ Romances from the 
German^'' probably left there by some Madame 
Teufalsdrocht, in a fit of absent-mindedness, as 
with a truly vrow-like intent she took up the 
article to darn it.” 

“And he darned it, too, the profane wretch,” said 
Ben, “when he saw how he had ‘ got his foot in’ 
it. Didn’t you think that I was on the watch ? ” 

“ Well, if he has ^got his foot said Phil, 
“ there is nothing now for him but to ‘ stump 
it.’ And I propose, as there are six great giants 
of us here, to say nothing of the pygmies, that 
we do something towards making ourselves 
happy, and other folks too, if we can. Now, 
cousin Lottie, you shall commence the order of 
exercises, according to promise, and we’ll follow 
after; each, if not on Pegasus, yet, according 
to his or her ability, on little jack-nag. It is too 
bad that you, and aunt, and uncle should have 
all the burden of entertaining such a mass of 
humanity.” 

“Well said. See us twelve grown-up folks 
— see Fred and Evaleen stretch their necks till 
they are two inches taller therefor. Yes, I move 


CHRISTMAS MORN AT HAZELNOOK. 


13 


that each of us tell a fairy story, wizard story, 
ghost story, or some sort of a story, that shall 
outdo Peter Rugg, De la Motte Fouque, Princess 
Scherezaide of the many nights, and ” 

“ Easier said than done,” rejoined Phil ; “ yet 
I second that motion. Let’s put it to vote.” 

“ Please, mamma, put up yoiu* hand ; and, 
papa, do let me help lift yours. Yes, all up,” 
said Katie, jumping with glee. 

“ It is a unanimous vote,” said Ben. 

“Will the stories all have morals?” asked 
Ellen, timidly. 

“ Mine wont. I’ll be bound,” said Ben. 

“ O, I’m glad ; I always forget the morals,” 
returned Katie ; “ don’t you, Ellen ? ” 

“ I try hard to remember them, because that 
is what they are written for.” 

“ What a bore these morals are ! ” said Ben. 

“ What for does a body want a fairy to come 
and teach a child to knit her stocldngs, and 
study her spellings?” 

“ I wish one would come to teach me,” an- 
swered Ellen, with a vision floating before her 
eyes of slates and text books veiled in gossamer, 
and glorified with brightness. 

“Is there a moral in your story, Lottie?” 
asked Katie. 

“ I believe not,” replied Charlotte, slowly ; 
“ to be sure, there is a lesson — no, not a lesson. 


14 


INTRODUCTION. 


Dut a truth — no, it is^nt that — but there is a — 
a — thought in it.” 

“Bravo!” shouted Ben; “our modest Char- 
lotte pleading guilty to a thought; and the 
jury will unanimously agree in their verdict.” 

Charlotte laughed and blushed. 

“ Charlotte is right,” said Phil ; “ every good 
story must be founded upon some truth, or idea, 
upon which depends not only its value, but its 
interest.” 

“ Value and interest I sneered Ben; “quite a 
mercantile way of expressing yourself. Your 
story doubtless will commence thus : ^ As Ab- 
dallah, a merchant of Bagdad, was counting up 
his gains, he saw arise from the casket ” 

“ No, no,” interrupted Phil ; “ I will tell as 
nonsensical a story as any one of you. We 
all understand this matter. We are to have a 
sociable, chatty variety in our entertainments — 
some tongue to sandwich with our whist; and 
something we can enjoy with Katie and Ellen 
besides Chinese puzzles, conversation cards, and 
German games.” 

“ Verily, thou art a man of understanding,” 
said Ben ; “ and I stipulate that no one ask for 
the moral of our stories more than for the moral 
of ‘ Midsummer Night’s Dream ’ or ‘ Little Red 
Riding Hood.’ ” 

“ Yet there is, in most fairy tales, a lesson, oi 


CHRISTMAS MORN AT HAZELNOOK. 


15 


a truth, or an idea, as Charlotte has it,” added 
her mother. “ The * Arabian Nights ’ are not 
without their teachings ; and, could we trace all 
these fables back to their primary sources, we 
should find them issue thence as truths. I have 
sometimes thought I could find the whole lesson 
of life in the story of ‘ The Talking Bird, The 
Singing Tree, and the Golden Water.’ ” 

O, tell it, mamma ! ” said Katie. ^ Please 
tell it! ” echoed Ellen. 

Not until it comes my turn.” 

‘‘ Aunt must not be excused from an original 
tale,” said Phil. “ And now, my little talk- 
ing bird, quick, get your things, for the sleigh is 
ready.” 

“ But stop ! ” said Ben. “ Am I to be alone, 
like Rousseau and Lamartine, in my ‘ confessions.’ 
Let’s hear what Sophy and Eva, Lottie, Katie, 
aunts and uncles have found in their stockings.” 

“ Mine are fuller now than they were last 
night, though ‘ a world too wide for my shrunk 
shank,’ ” said uncle Charley, stamping with his 
boots. “ And so are mine,” “ And mine,” “ And 
mine,” echoed around the room. 

“ Ah, Ben, you are a privileged character,’* 
said Charlotte, shaking her head. 

“ You are the rogue, the witch ! ” 

No, no ; but please find my gloves, and hand 
iny mufi’ and tippet. Thank you, Ben.” 


IG 


INTRODUCTION. 


“ Stop, stop , here. Let’s not start away until 
this matter is all settled,” said Ben. “ There are 
but ten of us, grown-up folks; that is, by cour- 
tesy assuming that we are grown up, especially 
Fred and- Sophy. Only ten, including Dr. Char- 
ley and aunt Mary, who will have gay visions, 
as this is their honeymoon.” 

Aunt Mary reddened. “ I never told a story 
in my life.” 

“ Tell that to the marines ! no, I mean to 
Mrs. Opie. But you and uncle Charley must be 
happy too. But who, I ask, are our eleventh 
and twelfth ? ” 

“ Isn’t it Ellen and me ? ” asked Katie, archly. 
Her mother laughed, and shook her head. 

“ There’s Biddie and Aleck ! the one from the 
land of cakes and spectres ; the other from that 
of bogs and bogles,” said Phil. 

“ And arn’t they grown up ? ” continued Ben, 
as Aleck’s gaunt form appeared with the horses 
before the window. “ See him there, like the 
city of Washington, ‘ a place of magnificent dis- 
tances.’ Then there’s Biddie — not so spacious, 
but so tightly packed as to rival him in solid 
substance.” 

“ But neither Biddie nor Aleck will tell a story 
before company,” said Charlotte. 

“ Then they must deliver themselves in private 
confession to me,” said Phil, “and T will trans- 


CHRISTMAS MORN AT HAZELNOOK, 


17 


mute the diamond in the rough to the shining 
Kohinoor.” 

“ I move,” said Ben, “ that Charlotte be 
confessor to Biddie, while Phil sounds Aleck 
She will get the best story, I’ll warrant.’' 

“ I will try,” replied Charlotte, “ and all shall 
have the benefit of the Hibernian revelation.” 

“ Don’t be too sure that it will excel Aleck’s 
and mine. I’ll wait till the last,” said Phil. 

“ Better give the valedictory to the lady ! ” said 
uncle Charles. 

“ Aleck is slower than Biddie,” replied Phil. 
‘‘ It is the distinctive of his race.” 

“ And sex ! ” chimed in aunt Mary, archly. 

“ Whoorah ! whoorah ! ” shouted Ben. “ Now 
we’re ready! horses, children, and all. Here, 
Katie, give a jump! That’s right. Got you! 
mittens, Ellen, and all your fixings ? Eva’s muff 
will do for both of us ! Whoorah ! ” 

2 


jFirst 


CHRISTMAS EVE AT HAZELNOOK. 

“ Now came still evening on,” said Ben, as the 
tea tray was removed, and they severally ar 
ranged themselves around the glowing gi-ate 
and illuminated table. 

^ But the successor to such a noisy day ! ” was 
the rejoinder of his aunt. 

‘‘ O, aunt, do forgive us ! for we funded all the 
racket into one of the shortest days in the whole 
year ; and now we will sit with our hands folded 
in our laps so very quietly. Come, Katie, here’s 
a seat for you ! ” But Katie had nestled to her 
father’s feet, and Ellen stole softly to her 
brother’s arms. 

“ Now, where is our Moss Rose ? ” 

‘‘ Here is mine,” said Evaleen, bringing for- 
ward a half-opened bud of surpassing beauty 
and fragrance. 

“ O cousin Eva, where did you get it ? ” 

“ That is my wonderful tale to tell, when the 
doomsday, or night of doom, comes to me. 
Meantime here is Charlotte, with a roll of French 

18 


CHRISTMAS EVE AT HAZELNOOK. 


19 


paper, tied with blue ribbon. Now for her moss 
rose ! ’’ 

“ I said I promised a moss rose, but not that I 
had it ; did I ? That this is a fairy legend — a 
tradition, did I not? It was Katie called it a 
moss rose.’’ 

“ Isn’t it about a rose ? Isn’t a moss rose in 
it?” 

“ Yes, yes. You shall now see, or rathei 
hear, of Moss and Rose, or 


THE FAIRY BRIDAL. 


Queen Flora met her fairy train, one bright 
midsummer night, where, on a soft, smooth lawn, 
they held gay festival. There was dance, like 
the waltzing of quick waters; and song, like 
the chiming of crystal bells. 

There was sport and mirth, and many a won- 
drous tale ; but, when the moon grew pale, and a 
clear ray shot up in the east, they drew to a close 
their revelry. 

“ And when we meet again,” said Flora, ‘‘ we 
will have, what we have not had to-night — a 
bridal I ” 

There was a sound of many voices, from the 
fairy troop, like the sweet songs of birds, rising 
from thick forests, with the music of innumerable 
leaves. And the chorus was — “Who? who? 
who shall be the married ones ? ” 

“ Decide that for yom'selves,” said Queen 
Flora. “ Who will be our first bridegroom ? ” 
and she turned to the tall Cardinal Flower, in 
his rich crimson robes, as though he could best 
answer that question. 

But the Cardinal turned still more red, as 
though at an indignity, and intimated that any 

90 


THE FAIRY BRIDAL. 


2. 


one of his vocation might better spend his time 
than by devoting it to one fairy. Young Mari- 
gold liftea ms tasselled cap, and stood, tall as 
could, in his plush habit of gay maroon; but 
he could not make up his mind to speak, and 
only cast a meaning glance at the sweet-breathed 
Pink, which she returned by a fragrant sigh. 
Nasturtion fluttered his rich-hued banners, and 
looked at all the loveliest flower fairies, as 
though if he could wed the whole in one it 
would make him still happier. Sweet Pea lifted 
her thin wings in response, as though she felt 
that there must be a particular affinity between 
them ; but Nasturtion only smiled benign antly 
on all. Bachelor held up his button, to 
remind them of his sworn celibacy ; and Sweet 
William did not know how to choose one, and 
break the hearts of all the rest of his admirers. 
Cactus bristled with dismay. The queen, 
who had noted this, began to doubt whether 
she should find a groom for her marriage 
festival; but just then Moss stepped forward 
in his green velvet jerkin, with his scarlet 
cockade in a stout olive-colored cap, and alto- 
gether quite a stiff bristling appearance, spite of 
his well-known good nature. Indeed he looked 
as though he thought it would be a fighting 
affair, after all, spite of the evident reluctance tc 
accept the queen’s challenge, and he stood ready 


24 


THE FAIRY HRIDAL. 


for any one of them, or for any thing. Flora 
smiled lovingly, for Moss was a great favorite 
with her, though he was not so grand as the Car- 
dinal, nor so beautiful as Nasturtion, nor so 
much admired as Sweet William. But the little 
fairies all laughed. They did not appreciate Moss, 
and considered him decidedly green. Though 
an old acquaintance, they only thought of him as 
an impudent little fellow, forever intruding 
himself upon their circles, running about in all 
manner of out-of-the-way places, and they com- 
plained that he was forever under foot. 

“ And who shall be your bride ? ” said the 
smiling queen, not heeding the sneers of many. 
Moss was puzzled for an instant. There was 
Violet, his old friend, with whom he had so often 
nestled at the roots of old trees, whom he had 
clasped to his heart in deep-shaded dells, and 
under the cool rocks ; and he remembered her 
sweet breath when she rested at his side, or 
closed her blue eye on his bosom. That deep 
eye was half lifted to him now, but it gently 
dropped again, and the breeze brought him a 
breath of incense. Then he thought of frail 
Anemone, whom he had embraced so many 
times, as they met in the woodlands, and who 
needed his fresh vigor, and cool way of meeting 
things, to assist her in getting along, or even hold- 
'nsr her own. 


THE FAIRY BRIDAL. 


25 


He glanced at her now, so tall, frail, and sleii« 
der, so graceful and so fair, with the faintest 
hectic on her pure face, and a tender inclination 
of her slight form towards him. He looked at 
the soft wreaths around her trail, and thought 
how often they had floated over his buskins, and 
how beautiful she seemed when the wind lifted 
her head, and the sunlight came down through 
the tree tops on her delicate brow. But Moss 
was ambitious ; and, spite of his humble dress, 
cool way, and odd habits, he had, with all his 
sturdy helpfulness, quite an idea of taking a 
bride who should help him up in the world, 
instead of humbly uniting himself to one of the 
modest companions of his early life. And he 
said, “ I will have Rose ! ’’ 

O, what a laugh went up ! It was like a little 
whirlwind of sneers ; for Rose was Flora’s chief 
favorite, and her attendant every where. She 
was the acknowledged belle of all the flower 
fairies, and in every land her supremacy was 
admitted. She had rested on the brows of 
queens, and nestled in the bosom of an empress. 
She was ever first in the garland, and chiefost in 
the bouquet. But it was no obstacle with Moss 
that she was universally acknowledged “ love- 
liest, supremest, best.” When he heard the 
taunting laugh, he looked at her to see if she 
'oined in the scornful mirth ; but her head was 


26 


THE FAIRY BRIDAL. 


bowed, to liide her blushes and the rich glow 
that deepened at her heart. There was nothing 
exclusive in her disposition ; she breathed as 
sweetly on a beggar as on a king, and looked as 
sweetly on a pallet as on a palace. Like every 
noble nature, she could appreciate the universal 
sympathies of Moss, and his general usefulness. 
Spite of his humble uniform, and the stiff armor 
in which he sometimes cased himself, she knew 
how soft was his heart, how invigorating his 
touch. She could not sneer, nor taunt, and now 
awaited, while rich odors stole from her open 
heart, the reply of Queen Flora. 

“ But, Moss,” said the queen, “ though you 
are an adventurous little fellow, and can scram- 
ble through the world better than some who 
have a poor opinion of you, yet you sometimes 
choose but a rough residence, and a lawless way 
to spend your time. Now, Rose I would have 
carefully cherished, and carried to a beauteous 
home, for she is worthy of all I can bestow on 
her. She must not be taken into damp caves, nor 
dragged up into dead trees. The sweetest bird 
deserves the loveliest cage; the richest jewel 
should have the most precious ring; the noblest 
of all my flower fairies deserves the best husband 
and the most beautiful home.” 

^ I will do all in my power to give her each of 
them,” replied Moss, whose stout heart was not 


THE FAIRY BRIDAL. 


27 


at all daunted by this disclosure. “ Permit me 
this year to prepare for my loved one ! ” 

“ And where will we meet ? ” asked the queen. 

“ Do you see,” said Moss, pointing his wand 
towards the bay, “that high rock, by a little 
creek ? There let us meet on next midsummer 
eve ! ” 

“ There let us meet on next midsummer eve ! ” 
responded the queen ; and “ There let us meet 
on next midsummer eve! ” was the response of 
the whole choir. 

Then there was a moving of wings, as when a 
breeze sweeps through a garden all in bloom, 
and they disappeared in the red light of morn- 
ing. Moss stole to Rose ere she was gone, and 
looked up into her radiant face. There was a 
light kiss upon his brow, as she bowed still 
lower, and touched his moist hand ; and O, how 
grateful the dewy incense of her breath ! 

Then she was no more near him ; but he was 
a happy fellow as he crept to the bank of a rivu- 
let, and lay down to listen to its morning song, 
and decide upon future operations. 

“ I have it ! ” said he at last, and then he 
clambered up a high rock, and ran all over a 
precipice, in the exuberance of his glee, and 
said to himself, “ Short as Ism, yet who can lift 
their head so high ? ” 


28 


THE FAIRY BRIDAL. 


The next midsummer’s eve the fairies met 
at the old haunt, and went from thence to the 
place oi rendezvous. But they could not find 
it. There was no rugged outline of bare rocks 
against the clear sky, and they looked in vain for 
the spot imprinted on their memories. While 
flitting pettishly about, they thought they heard 
a well-known voice, and, looking away, they saw 
Moss waving his banners, and laughing at them 
They flew to him, and the velvet-draped bar- 
bacan, from which his signal floated, and there 
they saw the green altar and level dancing floor 
“ O, what a change was there ! ” The bald gray 
rocks were tapestried by Moss, with all his 
brightest shades of green ; the loose sand was 
carpeted with the vivid tint of springing grass ; 
every hillock was now a soft ottoman, strewn 
with seed amber, and studded thick with olive 
shades of raised embroidery. Some dead trees, 
that leaned their huge antlers towards each 
other from opposing precipices, were hung thick 
with tassels of silver, fawn, and brown ; and 
every bough was fringed superbly. Here and 
there a shaft of stone was crusted with a varie- 
gated papyria, and these were interspersed with 
pyramids and columns, rusted with gold and 
silver ; while the protruding roots of overarching 
trees were softly cushioned with Moss’s most 
delicate handiwork. Starry spangles of light 


THE FAIRY BRIDAL. 


29 


pea green gave life to overwrought lugs of 
a brownish or an olive tint, and filigree scales 
covered the roughest tablets. The little pooi 
lay in the outer court, beneath the moonbeams, 
like dancing quicksilver in a fountain rim of 
emerald ; and a long, thick fringe of softest green 
lined the deep hollow of its basin. 

But the altar — that was most beautiful; for 
every fairy had thrown her tribute there, and it 
was heaped with fragrant blossoms. Moss’s 
best mosiac vases held Lily’s and Orange’s 
fairest blooms, and quiet little Violet nestled 
at its base, with a dew-drop in her blue eye, 
whose pencilled lids were drooping, and she was 
purple with deep emotion. Anemone would 
have hung her head, but her breezy old wooer 
reassured her, and lifted it carelessly with his 
pinions. 

And Flora came, wearing her crown of state, 
where every fairy saw in miniature her flower, 
and bearing her sceptre, now wreathed by Moss. 
Close following was the bride of the night, too 
superb to be lovely, too lovely to be magnificent. 
'J’he choicest odors floated with her undulating 
movements, and her breath was like the richest 
incense of spring. From the depths of her heart 
came stealing a gentle blush, that irradiated her 
whole form, and every fairy bent in homage to 
this beauteous one. 


30 


THE FAIRY BRIDAL. 


“ Truly, Moss, thou hast decorated the hard 
rocks into a palace worthy of thy bride, thy 
bridal, and thy queen ! ” said Flora, as she 
flitted beneath the fringed arch into the open 
court, where the fountain glittered. Honey- 
suckle blew his trumpet, while she marshalled 
her fairy host, with the Cardinal, to bring up 
the rear, and she led the bride as Moss headed 
the procession. They passed through lofty 
aisles with velvet floorcloth and spangled ceil- 
ing, and trellised above with Moss’s thickest net- 
ting. The moon and starbeams peeped through 
and played with their radiant wands; and the 
dewy breeze stole into the passages to ravish 
the fragrance of the morning blossoms. They 
passed through a winding way to the little inlet 
from the sea ; but Moss had so planted and 
disguised its banks, that they were not to be 
easily recognized. Here was a miniature forest 
of vegetable coral, and there were shelving preci- 
pices, rough coated with gold and silver. 

Then they all dipped into the waves, where 
Moss had collected his most artistic creations 
They found his copy of every forest tree and 
garden flower, with many a vague model of 
wonders not yet substantially wrought out, of 
things for which there was no likeness in the 
heaven above or the earth beneath. When they 
had fairly investigated all the marvels of his sea 


THE FAIRY BRIJJAL. 


31 


album, and trifled with the lightly-laden waves, 
they passed around through other cool green 
cloisters, to the altar they had left, and there 
were no more sneers when Moss doft’ed his cap, 
with its red cockade, and, in his plush regi- 
mentals, stood before them all to receive his fair 
Rose from Queen Flora. 

Then the fairy train departed, each leaving 
a sweet tribute behind ; and Violet stole last 
away, while her soft tears perfumed the bridal 
bed. Rose leaned heavily at first upon her 
stout young husband, as though her heart was 
burdened with bliss or woe; but soon she was 
accustomed to his ways, and loved to stand with 
him at the green altar or lean against the old 
trees. 

The next year, I wot, that fairy cave was far 
more beautiful than then, for there were many 
moss buds playing on the green ; and if you 
would know how beautiful they were, look at 
the next moss rose you find, and you will think 
how proud was this fond couple when they 
presented their offspring to Queen Flora, who 
said, “ These are the choicest creatures of my 
band.” 


32 


EVENING SECOND. 


As Charlotte finished her sketch, she looked 
to the least of her auditors, to find in brilliant 
eyes tlie compliment she most desired — that of 
children; and Ellen and Katie actually looked 
as though they could have kept awake through 
another story. Then she lifted her gaze to her 
parents, to find in their expression the tribute 
to a well-done task. They certainly found no 
fault, and her mother ventured to compliment 
the story, though she said that to personify 
flowers was now no original thought. She 
repeated the pretty lines of “ The Angel of 
Flowers,” where the moss is given to the rose 
as the only thing that can increase its beauty ; 
and she showed them some plates, where a few 
blossoms are very beautifully transformed into 
floral women. 

Charlotte gazed with interest, but disclaimed 
any conscious assistance from these sources. 

Phil said there were many things so obvious 
to the poetic eye that one must see them now 
just as they might have seen them thousands of 
years ago. He expressed his private conviction 
that, if the Alexandrian library could be repro- 
duced, without a knowledge of its identity, 
those old authors would be accused of wanton 
plagiarism from Milton, Shakspeare, and nobody 
knows how many more. 

Ellen asked what library it was, and her fathei 


EVENING SECOND. 


33 


told her it was the greatest collection of its time, 
in Egypt, which had been then considered the 
university of the world. But it was burned by 
Mahomet — or some Islamite more bigoted than 
the author of the Koran ever was himself — 
because he said that if it contained aught 
against Mahometanism it ought to be destroyed, 
and if it did not, it was unnecessary, as it would 
be but a duplicate account. And he added, that 
the learned world had never ceased to regret 
this conflagration. 

But Phil rejoined, that the learned world need 
not make itself so uncomfortable. He did not 
doubt but the Alexandrian library had been re- 
written long since, and with this advantage, 
that a riper generation of authors had employed 
themselves upon the raw material, and that 
two sets of writers had enjoyed the blessing of 
believing themselves the originators of assertions 
and the discoverers of ti’uths. 

But Katie and Ellen fell asleep in the Alex- 
andrian librar} , and were sent to bed. 


Queuing 

All met around the cheerful table, in sanguine 
expectation of Phil’s story, which had many 
days before been promised to Ellen, but which 
she was now to share with all the rest. 

He came in with a roll of manuscript four 
times as large as Lottie’s ; but Katie, who had 
snatched a peep at it, said it was written coarse 
enough for a sign board ; so they need not 
fear it would take them all night to listen to it. 

Phil trusted they would not fear any thing in 
regard to it. 

“ Except,” said Ben, “ that it may have pre- 
appeared in the Alexandrian library.” 

No ; Phil thought they need not even have a 
fear of that. His Enchanted Horse had neither 
carried him to the heights of Parnassus, nor to 
the sources of the Nile. He had only emerged 
fujm a rough German forest, which was un- 
doubtedly black with the darkness of isolation in 
the time of the Alexandrian library. 

“ An enchanted horse, from the Black Forest,” 
said Ben. “ That sounds promising ! Come, 
let us hear him neigh ! ” 


34 


EVENING SECOND. 


35 


Phil untied the roll, and settled himself com- 
fortably in a whirligig chair, as Ben called it, 
because its seat tuimed on a pivot ; and, while 
attending to these secondary matters, he was 
somewhat disturbed by some “ill-bred whin- 
nering,’^ as he called it, which was going on in 
Ben and Fred’s department of the group. 

He would not have minded it, but that the 
business was so new to him ; and he had a dread 
of Ben’s ridicule that he did not like to acknowl- 
edge. However, he dropped his scowl, and 
began. 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


Old Casper was a cotter, who for years had 
been known on all the wharves, in all the streets, 
and over the market square of the city. His little 
cot was in the outskirts, where lived Jost, his faith- 
ful wife, and their children. Old Casper must 
have married late in life, or else hard labor had 
made liim old ; for he looked as if he might be the 
grandfather of the little ragged boys who played 
around his cottage door, and ran to meet him 
at the eventide. And in the square, on the 
wharves, and through the streets, they o..ly knew 
him as “ Old Casper ’’ — “ Cotter Casper,” who 
seemed never to have been young within the 
remembrance of any inhabitant. He walked 
with a trembling step, because his knees had so 
often tottered beneath the heavy loads he bore 
upon his back, his shoulders, or his head. His 
skin was withered and wrinkled by the winds 
and rain, in which he waited for odd jobs and 
burdens to carry. His garments were patched 
and threadbare, because he had not money 
enough to purchase new ones. And these old 
clothes gave him a very ancient look. The 
repeated patches on his knees gave them the 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


39 


appearance of two hard, gnarled knots on a forest 
stump ; and the old brown suit looked, all to 
gether, with its shreds and mendings, like the 
scaly bark of an old tree. But Casper was faith- 
ful abroad, and kind at home. His neighbors^ 
and his neighbors’ dogs and hens, loved him and 
his children. The birds built their nests on the 
eaves and in the chimney of his hut, and the 
stray goats browsed to his very doorstep. If he 
ever had a spare crust, he knew where was a dog 
that would be glad to eat it ; and, when he found 
a handful of hayseed in his pocket, he knew of 
the bird who would sing all the sweeter after he 
had put it on the window sill. 

One evening, as Old Casper returned through 
the squarS from his day’s labors, he saw a poor 
old horse standing in the market, as if waiting 
for a purchaser. He looked as though he might 
have waited long, and might wait still longer. 
He was a very sorry looking horse, in every 
sense of the word. One could count every rib in 
his body, and his back was like a saw. His 
spindle shanks were bald, save the coarse tufts 
upon the joints ; and his rough, flaky hoofs 
looked as though they would crumble to pieces. 
There was a little hair on his mouth, like coarse 
ice needles. His hide was the color of a singed 
blanket; he held his head to the ground, as 
though he would feign snuff some sustenance 


:0 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


from the stone pavement, or as though he haJ 
the sense to be ashamed of his ill looks. Old 
Casper pitied him, and stroked his back gently. 

“ Will no one buy him ? ” said he to the man 
who held him by the halter. 

“ I have not had an offer to-day,’’ replied the 
man, savagely. 

“ Poor fellow I ” said Casper to the horse ; and 
he stroked him again, very softly. 

The gaunt beast looked up, beseechingly, as 
though he would say, “ Do buy me ! ” Caspei 
shook his head, and turned away ; and he felt 
sorely self-condemned when he looked back a 
moment after, and saw how the poor brute had 
dropped his nose to the ground again, as though 
a fresh disappointment had been added to his 
sorrows. Casper choked down the self-rebuke, 
and walked on, thinking how glad he would be 
of such a horse. “ My back is weak,” said he, 
“ and almost broken. I cannot carry a heavy 
chest, or a large sack, as once I could, nor run 
with parcels when there is need of haste. Now, 
if I had a horse and little cart, he could carry all 
the burdens, and I would guide him. I would 
like to buy that horse ; for the man will beat if 
he cannot sell him, and I am sure no one but 
me will take him away. He is very bad looking, 
to be sure, but so much the better for me ; for 
what would I do with a fine horse and liow 


THE ENCIJANTED HORSE. 


41 


could I keep him sleek and hearty ? 1 (;annot 

buy one, and if one were given me, they aJl 
would think Old Casper had turned thief, and 
stolen him. Heigh-ho ! how I wish I could sell 
something and buy this creature!” Then his 
thoughts ran over all his possessions. It was a 
short race, for they were few; and there was 
nothing he could spare. 

He came in sight of his hut, but no one ran to 
nieet him, nor was Jost looking from the win- 
dow. “ And yet I am late!” said he to himself, 
as he mended his pace and shuffled on. When 
he reached home, he found Jost seated by the 
hearth, with a strange child upon her lap, and 
the children were gathered around her. ‘‘I 
found it crying at the door,” said she, ‘‘ when 1 
came home from gleaning, and none of the 
neighbors knew whence it came, or who left it 
here. But the children love it, already.” 

“ Poor thing, it is hungry,” said Casper, as he 
heard its first wail. “ Is there nothing for it to eat ? ” 

‘‘ It shall have my supper ! ” said Gottfried. 
“And mine!” said Wilhelm. “And mine!” 
said little Alvin. Little Bertha could not talk, 
but she crept to her mother, clambered to her 
knee, and, parting the kerchief on her neck, 
patted the full bosom with her little hands, as if 
to say, “And mine, too!” Then she smiled 
sweetly, and wound her soft arms around the 
little stranger. 


42 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


“He shall have mine,” said Casper: and he 
drew his cuffless sleeve across his eye ; “ I want 
none to-night.” So he took a basin, and filled 
it with warm milk and water, and soaked bread 
therein, and fed the child, while Jost nursed 
Bertha and gave the boys their bread and water. 
When her baby’s eyes were closed in sleep, she 
took her from her breast, and the blue milk 
trickled into her lap. “ There is some left for 
the little stranger,” said she ; and she took him 
from Casper. But the child shook his head, and 
would not take the remnant of Bertha’s snpper. 

The little boys came and kissed the hands of 
their parents, when it was time to go to rest, 
and they asked if they might kiss the strange 
baby. Jost and Casper let them kiss the child ; 
and then Casper took him, washed him, put on 
a clean frock that was Alvin’s, and laid down 
with him beside Jost and Bertha. 

“We will not send him to the armenhaus^ for 
they do not know how to nurse babies there,” 
said Casper ; “ they always die ; and we must 
not kill this little boy.” Just then the moon- 
beams came through the window and lighted 
up Old Casper’s face, so that it was white and 
beautiful. It sparkled too on the ring which 
hung around the neck of the foundling. “ This 
is very bright,” said he ; “ perhaps I can sell it, 
and get a great deal of money.” But then the 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


43 


light faded from the ring, and he could not see 
it in the darkness. 

When the sun arose Casper rose too, and ate 
his breakfast of bread and broth. “ I have left 
some for the new baby,” said he to Jost, as she 
took the children from their bed. “We will call 
him Leopold, for it is a king’s name;” and he 
gave him a hearty morning kiss. Just then ho 
saw the ring shining very brightly. 

“ I will sell it,” said he ; and he snatched it 
from the child’s neck, and hurried to the market. 
When the jewellers opened their shops, he took 
the ring from his pocket, and offered it for sale. 
But no one would buy it, for the light had all 
died out of the stone, and the setting was dull 
and tarnished. 

So he hastened back to the wharves ; “ for,” 
said he, “ I have one more now to work for, and 
I have lost all the morning.” He labored very 
hard, and only bought a small loaf for his dinner, 
which he ate, while the sweat from his face 
dropped upon the pavement. When it was 
night he hurried home, for he wished to know 
how Jost got along, and hoped the new child 
had not been troublesome. As he crossed the 
market, he saw the same gruff man, and the 
same rough horse, who had been there the night 
before. He was again so thoughtless as to pity 
the h '‘rse, and .stroke his shaggy mane ; and again 


44 


TEIE EN^ Ranted HORSE. 


the brute raised his head, with a piteous neigh, 
as if to say, “ Do take me home with you.” 

“ There is one new one there already,” said 
Casper to himself; and that reminded him of 
the ring, which he took from his pocket. It 
glittered very brightly, and the horse dealer 
looked at it with wonder. “ Can we trade,” 
said Casper, “with the horse and the ring?” 

“ I will give you the horse, and money enough 
to buy a cart, and a rack full of grain,” said the 
man, “if you will give me the ring.” 

“ It is a bargain,” replied Casper ; and he gave 
the man the ring, and took the halter. 

“ Come, Mynheer,” said he to his horse, for he 
lid not know what else to call him. But the 
Horse knew who was meant, and followed as 
fast as he could. Casper wished to hurry, for 
he was afraid the -ight would fade again from 
the ring, and that the horse dealer would not 
abide by the bargain. He peeped back, but the 
man was not there ; nor could he see him in all 
the square, nor in the turnings of the streets, 
^et he did not stop to wonder, but, pulling the 
horse along, again he cried, “ Come, Mynheer.” 
The horse passed slowly through the streets, 
and every body laughed at Casper and his new 
possession. But somehow they were at home 
sooner than he thought to be, and the children 
came to meet him, leading little Leopold. The\ 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


45 


al. siroked Myjiheer, as their father called hiia 
and asked if he would eat some of their supper. 

“ I will get him some grain,” said Casper ; 
and then he will grow strong and heavy.” 

“ But he will never be a beauty,” thought 
Gottfried, as he turned away to little Bertha, 
“like my sweet little sister; nor so good looking 
as Leopold, who is all the better for a day’s life 
with civil people.” 

The little stranger’s face was shining with 
happiness, and he seemed to feel among hi“ 
kindred with the children of Casper. 

A stable was fitted up for Mynheer of some 
loose boards ; and, until it was finished, the 
horse slept under the window, and ate from 
their hands in the doorway. He loved best that 
little Leopold should feed him, and took kinJiy 
to the boy. 

Casper bought his little cart, and then he com- 
menced life anew in the crowded thoroughfare. 

There was, to Casper, something very won 
derful about his horse. He seemed not stroiig 
yet his strength never failed. He would nevex 
hurry, yet he was never too late. He walked 
with an uncertain step, yet he never stumbled 
Though the worst-looking, he was the best-be- 
haved horse in the city. Men laughed at him, 
and said, “ Old Casper’s horse looks as though 
be were his child.” “ Ay,” said the old man. 


46 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


when he overheard it, “ if they could only sec< rny 
Bertha!” But the fine qualities of Mynheer 
were in time appreciated ; and when the good 
wives wanted water brought, or milk carried, 
they sought for Casper and his sure-footed horse. 
He was never too late for the postman, nor too 
• early for his master. Nor did his patience and 
good temper ever fail. 

Casper never struck him, nor gave him a cross 
word. Though never brisk in the morning, he 
was never tired at night. He took his last load 
as freely as his first, and stopped at the appointed 
signal with no impatience. In time, Casper put 
heavier loads upon the cart, and piled it high 
with heterogeneous freight ; but Mynheer never 
minded that. And the creature seemed so well 
and cheery at night that once he set off* with 
him to the marsh for loam, to make a gar- 
den out of the sand plat in the rear of his house. 
The twilight was long then, and Mynheer brought 
it home before it was dark, and went again. 
So they did the next night, and the next ; and 
when it w’as Sunday, Casper was himself aston- 
ished at his rich ground. He wondered that 
Mynheer could have brought so much. Then he 
got seeds, and planted them, and they grew finely. 
One eve he took his cart and went for some 
bulbs and plants, that they might have flowers. 
Mynheer shook the cart, and scattered some of 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


47 


tne roots ere they reached home. “ Naughty 
Mynheer.” said Casper, laugh. ngly; but when 
the bit was out of his mouth, he ran ba( k quite 
nimbly, and brought them home in his mouth. 
Those roots grew very large and lovely ; and 
when they blossomed people came to admire 
their novel beauty. After this the ladies came 
often to Jost for her beauteous flowers, for bridal 
wreaths and opera bouquets ; and tnough she 
gave them many, her own garden bed was 
always blooming. 

“ Mynheer seems never tired,” said Jost one 
evening, as he came home in the early twilight, 
drawing the cart after Casper. “ Why should I 
not have some good of him, as well as others ? I 
will have a ride !” 

So she got upon his back, which, sharp as it 
was, seemed to accommodate itself to her won- 
derfully as a seat, even like a soft pillion; and 
she rode through the lane, by the brewery, up to 
the bleaching green, and came back in high 
spirits. The little boys laughed at her, even 
Leopold, who wanted to give the horse his sup- 
per, and Bertha clapped her baby hands in sym- 
pathy with the rest. 

“ What a good horse ! ” exclaimed Casper 
to himself. “ Now that he is known so well, I 
can sell him for a purse full of gold.” Mynheei 
had brought him many a lucky kreuzer ; but a 


48 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


purse full of gold to hold in his hand all at once 
— this was the brightest vision of Casper. So 
he took him to the market one day, and stood 
with the herdsmen and jockeys, with Mynheer 
for sale. 

It was not long before a farmer came by who 
knew of all his patience, and strength, and docil- 
ity. He counted out a small purse for Casper, 
and said he would give him that for the horse, 
for he was wanting a strong creature to get marl 
and loam, and bring lime from the pit. Casper 
found he could do no better ; so he exchanged 
the horse for the purse, and went home. But 
when he put his hand into his pocket to get the 
purse for Jost to look at, it was not there. He 
searched every fold of his old coat and breeches ; 
but it was surely gone. His spirits were not 
raised by his wife’s reproaches, nor the tears of 
the children, who cried for Mynheer. Leopold 
wept all night, so that he was sick next day ; and 
when Casper went to his morning’s work, he left 
him with his face all flushed with fever. 

He went to his old haunt on the wharves, and 
again took burdens on his head and back. 

“ I have had a nice long rest,” said he to hirn- 
self, “ and am now grown strong and tough. 1 
look so much better, that men will call me Young 
Casper^ and think I am son to Jost.” 

Thus he strove to keep up good heart, and 


THP. enchantp:d horse. 


49 


earn hit living as before ; but it was a hard and 
heavy day’s work for him. When he went home 
his boys met him in silence, and Leopold sat 
moping on the wooden steps, with Bertha look- 
ing at him silently. She kissed her father, and 
then stole to the boy again, with her quiet sym- 
pathy. By and by they heard some uneven, 
well-known steps, and Casper looked up from 
the bacon and greens he was striving to eat, and 
then he jumped like a monkey; for Mynheer put 
his wrinkled nose in at the doorway, as if he 
had his usual right to be there. The farmer 
came blustering after him, and swore — for he was 
in a great passion — that he wash a teufel of a 
peast^ and he shoot haf no more to too mit him. 

“ Sho let me haf mine colt akain., ant you shall 
haf te Peelsepup of a ^orse ! ” Yes, it was true ; 
Mynheer had kicked a new cart into flinders, 
beat down the stable door with one blow of his 
hoof, made splinters of his rack, and snapped his 
teeth at his new master. Yet there he was, like 
a masterly hypocrite, looking as peaceable as a 
priest, and as nai ve as a nun. 

“ But I cannot return your gold,” said Casper , 
“ 1 have lost it ! ” Then the farmer raved again, 
and would not believe one word he said, and 
told him he ant his peast were two tevfels^ and shoot 
pe purnt in a vire. 

Casper put his hand in his pocket, to prove 


50 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


its collapsed state, and lo, there was the purse, 
just as he had put it in the night before. 

He gave it to the farmer, who counted it, and, 
finding it all right, took his departure. Then 
the children rejoiced over Mynheer, and crowned 
him with their beautiful flowers. 

Casper went again to the wharves with his 
horse and cart, and Mynheer was docile as 
before. But Jost had not forgotten her ride, 
and she said, “ Now Mynheer has come home 
again, I will have some good of him too ; and 
on Michaelmas day I will have a ride in the 
park.” There was a rich schneider^ who often 
had flowers of Jost, and she went to him and 
said, “ If you will make me a fine riding habit, 
and hat with plumes, I will give you my choice 
plants.” “I will,” said the schneider ; for he 
thought, “ How fine they will look in my front 
shop windows ! ” 

So he furnished Jost with the riding suit 
throughout, and received, in return, the plants, 
all taken up by the roots, but one little offshoot 
that wilted in the ground when the parent stems 
were taken away. 

The children felt very sad when the plants 
were gone, and Leopold went to the forlorn one 
in the garden, and sat and cried over it. His 
hot tears seemed to revive it, like a sof. shower, 
and the pure petals opened with new beauty 


THK ENCHANTED HORSE. 


51 


He pressed the earth around the roots, and again 
it flourished, and the wonderful flowers were the 
pride of old Casper’s garden once more. 

But they ever seemed, to Jost, to look at her, 
reproachfully. 

When came Michaelmas day, she mounted her 
horse, arrayed in her fine hat and plumes, and 
gay dress, with her whip in her hand, and set ofi 
when the streets and park were full of people. 
“ They will see riding to-day,” said Jost ; and 
in truth they did. Mynheer poked through the 
streets in his most ungainly manner, and though 
Jost threshed him until her arm was lame, it did 
no good. His hide seemed made of iron, nor 
did he mind her threats or scoldings. All at 
once he flung his heels into the air, and set off 
like a bullet from a gun. Jost dropped her whip 
and clung to his neck, for she saw he meant 
to throw her. “ Stop him!” she screamed; but 
no one dared, for his mouth was covered with 
froth, and his eyes glowed like two coals of fire. 
He raced all over the park like a whirligig, and 
finally ended his capers by throwing Jost com* 
pletely over his head, upon the embankment. 
The good woman thought she must surely be 
dead, but she was not even hurt, only terribly 
frightened, and her new riding dress completely 
spoiled. 

She piclc^d herself up, and went home very 


52 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


much mortified ; and Mynheer followed quietly 
as though he had but a dim remembrance of 
what had happened. But dost never attempted 
equestrian feats again. 

Time passed on, and Mynheer labored still, 
gaining for Casper many a penny, so that he 
sent his children to school, and furnished his 
cottage comfortably. His little garden was the 
most flourishing bit of ground in the suburb, and 
no one else had vegetables so good in eating. 
But, when years had passed, Casper grew tired 
of the wharves ; and he thought again, “ I will 
sell the horse, and get money for a shop.” 

Mynheer had not waxed old nor feeble, and 
there was a merchant who said he would buy 
him for his country seat, where he was just 
retiring. He had not heard of Mynheer’s misde- 
meanors with his former purchaser ; and Casper, 
like a prudent man, knew how to hold his peace. 

He kept the money fast in his hand when it 
was paid him, and went to a shopkeeper, saying. 
“ I will give you this for your shop and fixtures.” 
“It is a bargain,” was the man’s reply ; for he 
had been wanting to sell out. 

So Casper was shortly instated in his shop, 
and he ranged the goods in the windows, and 
fitted up the shelves anew,’ and made himself 
very busy, though he worked with his holiday 
suit on. But nothing went right He gave 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 5G 

good money, and always took bad change. His 
books were always wrong, and his goods were 
ever damaged. Still he persevered ; for he 
thought to himself, “ It is want of experience, 
and I will guard against so many blunders.” 
But there was no use in trying. His little sub- 
stance wasted, and he saw nothing before him 
but to go again to the wharves. 

One day, he sat gloomily looking at his empty 
bales and boxes, when the merchant came in, 
who bought Mynheer, saying, “ I have brought 
your fiend of a horse back again, and wish 1 
had done it before, for he has made me a poor 
man.” Then he went on to tell of the ruin he 
had wrought, and how he had kept him that he 
might break his cursed spirit or his neck, but he 
could do neither. “ I will take the horse,” said 
Casper, “ but I have nothing to give in return 
but this shop, which you may have in welcome.” 
So the merchant took the shop, and sold his 
farm house to replenish it, after which he did 
well. And Casper went home, leading his 
peaceable horse with a joyful heart. 

How glad were the boys to see him again ; 
and the sunshine broke over the dark furrows of 
Jost’s countenance. Little Bertha leaped to 
Mynheer’s neck, and mingled her pretty curia 
with his rough mane. But Leopold was wholly 
another being. The color came to his wasted 


54 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


cheeks like the rosy light to a morning cloud 
and the nightmare, which he said had been so 
long upon him, as well in the day as through the 
night, had wholly passed away. He grew fat 
and happy, and they were a flourishing house- 
hold once more. 

When Gottfried had grown tall, he wished to 
go on his apprentice travels, and his father made 
for him a little purse when he went away. And 
thus he did by Wilhelm a'nd by Alvin ; but Leo- 
pold never asked to leave him. The young man 
took a piece of ground near by and cultivated 
it, for he was soon the best farmer in the neigh- 
borhood. He still lived at the old cottage, for 
there were two attractions there — Mynheer and 
Bertha. Casper’s daughter was beautiful as 
her mother’s other rare flowers, and he could 
have wedded her to many a richer man ; but she 
loved Leopold. So the parents betrothed her to 
the foundling, and their home was made happy 
by the light hearts of the young lovers. 

One day, when Casper was, as usual, at the 
wharves, some men came in a boat to the land- 
ing, and said, “ Where is the faithful man who 
will take this heavy chest to the wharf at the 
other side of the city ? ” 

“ That is a job for Casper,” said one, and he 
stepped forward to offer his services. It took 
many stout men to lift the chest from the boat 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


55 


1,0 the cart, but Mynheer set off very composedl} 
with his load. The men went round in the 
boat, but Casper took the short road through the 
streets. Mynheer went on very well until he came 
to a certain turning that went up to the heart of 
the city, and then he set off‘ in the wrong direc- 
tion, as if a fiend possessed him. It was all in 
vain that Casper shouted and ran. No one 
could stop him, and he ran on till he came to the 
^ericMshame. Then he stopped so violently 
that he upset the cart, threw out the chest, and 
shattered its iron bands so that the gold and sil- 
ver therein dropped out upon the pavement. 
There had been great robberies of late, and Cas- 
per thought, “ Surely this is the stolen money!” 
So he picked it up in his hat, and leaving Myn- 
heer to guard the chest, he sought the Amthome 
and told his story. The money was examined 
and identified. The chest was searched, and all 
its stolen contents were revealed. 

The judge sent jQfficers with Casper to seize 
the robbers; and the empty chest was placed 
upon the cart, which Mynheer dragged along 
like a feeble donkey. When they came to the 
wharf Mynheer sweat profusely, and hung his 
head, as though he were ready to sink from ex- 
haustion. This deceived the men, so that they 
did not mind the officers till they leaped into the 
boat and secured them every one for justice. 

The money was all returned to Ihe losers 


66 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE 


each c»i whom gave back a goodly portion to 
Casper, so that he was now a wealthy man- 
And the judge gave him a noble medal, as a 
memorial of his honesty, though Casper thought 
it belonged more to Mynheer than to him. 

He built him a pleasant house on the site ot 
the old hut, which he pulled down, and sent 
valuable gifts to his three sons. All the rest he 
gave to Leopold and Bertha, who were to be 
wedded when their new mansion was finished. 

They did not forget accommodations for My n- 
heer, who should be lodged, as Leopold said, as 
never a horse was lodged before. They made 
him a marble stable, with a silver rack, and they 
installed him there on the night of the marriage, 
festival. 

Old Casper left the bridal party enjoying theiv 
fine fruits and wondrous flowers, to give Myn- 
heer his supper and lock the stable door, that 
none of the inquisitive company might disturb 
him. 

In the morning they all crowded around the 
bride and bridegroom to wish them joy, and to 
know what they had dreamed during the first 
sleep in their new house. 

“ I dreamed,” said Leopold, “ that I saw a 
noble lady rush, like a lunatic, from a stately 
palace, and wander with a child in her arms, 
through fields and forests. Sometimes she kissed 
it tenderly, and anon she held it above some 


THE ENCHANTED HORSE. 


57 


pool or stream, as if she would fling it in. An 
instinct, stronger than she could resist, restrained 
her, and again she wandered on. At last she 
sunk at the foot of a tree and breathed no more 
A lady, all in waving robes of green, with a star- 
ry crown upon her brow, rose from the violet 
bank and took the child; and I saw no more. 
What did you dream, my Bertha ? ” 

“ I saw a poor old horse come from the wood- 
land, wearily carrying a child upon his back, 
which, when he had knelt gently, he dropped off 
at my father’s door. Then he went and stood in 
the market.” “ It was Mynheer ! ” said they all; 
and they went to the stable to give him his 
breakfast. But when the door was unlocked 
they found the stable empty. Mynheer had dis- 
appeared, they knew forever. But in the corner 
there glittered a ring. Casper picked it up, and 
said to Leopold, “ It is thine ! ” “ And all mine 

is thine,” said he to Bertha, and took her hand to 
place it on her finger. As he did so they saw, 
for the first time, these words engraven there : 

“ The REWARD OF KINDNESS.” 


Phil finished his tale to an attentive audience ; 
and even Ben found no fault with the horse, or 
the way in which he had trudged his way through 
tbe story. 


58 


EVENING SECOND. 


Katie asked if it were “ fair to have any Ger- 
man words in it ; ” and Phil replied there were 
none but such as were easily interpreted by the 
context. Their father thought the Dutch way of 
pronouncing one or two sentences was not con- 
sistent with the rest of the story. Either the tale 
should be good German, or German well trans- 
lated into good English. 

Phil pleaded guilty to the barbarism, but 
apologized by saying, that, while writing, he 
only thought how the old fellow would have 
scolded if we could but have heard him. 

Charlotte thought Phil was right ; that a better 
idea was given of the disappointed old Dutch- 
man than if he had scolded in good or bad Eng- 
lish : but her father still persisted that Phil was in- 
correct ; and Phil wished only to be correct in giv- 
ing a correct idea of what he wanted to portray. 

But while he took off his spectacles, and 
rubbed them as if to clear his vision for a glance 
into the rhetorical region of tropes, similes, alle- 
gories, &c., in which writers were so .wont to 
become lost, each of which he insisted should be 
perfect in its way, and while Phil was resettling 
himself for a long dissertation upon this subject 
of correct word painting, that might have been 
so much more useful before he wrote the story, a 
yawn from Ellen was observed by their mother, 
and was noticed as a signal for breaking up the 
circle. 


CoEning Ctiirii. 

The young folks had been kept in doors all 
day by a heavy snow storm. There had been 
many querulous complaints, and a hint or two 
that the clerk of the weather held an office that 
might be better bestowed on another. But Ben 
had looked remarkably complacent throughout, 
not only, as Sophy said, because it was his day 
for writing, and it was easier to keep in doors 
of a stormy than a pleasant day, but he verily 
appeared, she thought, as if new ideas came 
with the fresh snowflakes ; and she believed 
they might depend upon something specially 
prepared for the occasion. 

This announcement had inspired a peculiar 
interest and curiosity ; and Ben found a waiting 
audience when he entered the parlor with his 
manuscript doubled up in’ his pocket. Ben was 
not bashful, nor was he very conceited. He 
well knew there was, with the desire to hear a 
good story, a great willingness, in one or two 
directions, to criticize a poor one. 

Fred was drawing down the corners of his 
mouth, and brushing up his hair, and staring out 
his eyes, to look as Sophy said, like Frank in 

53 


60 


EVENING THIRD. 


the story book, when he was to listen to his 
cousin’s Latin theme ; and Ben feared “ the best 
of his story might be Latin to the present august 
critic ; ” a sarcasm which Fred well understood 
to be aimed at some very imperfect school reci^ 
tations of his own. 

“ Then gently scan your brother man,” con- 
tinued Ben ; a caution that by no means helped 
him to recover his equilibrium. Ben’s usual 
self-assurance returned as he took his chair and 
drew the light towards him ; and Fred resumed 
his, as he then found opportunities to make 
great eyes at the reader. 

“ Now open your ears and mental eyes,” said 
the reader, “ to hear my story of Old Bartrand ; 
or, The Clerk of the Weather.” 


THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


Old Bartrand grumbled at the wet and at 
the drought ; at the long, cloudy days, and at 
the weeks of clear hot sunshine. The weather 
never suited him, and it was his custom to 
say that if it were left to his arrangement he 
could save a deal of trouble. The clerk of the 
weather I ” that personage was a perfect bugbear 
to him ; and one would have thought, to hear 
old Bartrand, that this busy being was the most 
capricious, malicious, and suspicious person in 
the universe. 

“ No customers ever in my shop,” grumbled 
old Bartrand ; “ how should there ever be any ? 
The mud has been ankle deep at the crossing, 
and no sunshine this sevennight. No, nor moon- 
shine either, for that matter, unless this whole 
business is moonshine at the bottom. Well, if I 
could only get hold of ‘ the clerk of the weather,’ 
I would teach him how he might improve mat- 
ters. A lesson or so from somebody of common 
sense might work wonders in him. 

“ Ah, Bartrand, why were you not put into 
authority, where there is so much need of it?” 

This was his way of gi'umbling; and if he did 

63 


64 


THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


not always do it aloud, yet such thoughts were 
ever in his heart. 

“ Ah, if I could only break a path through 
those clouds, so that the sun might roll on» like 
a clean wheel over a smooth highway ; ” and he 
wiped the imagined sweat from his brow, as 
though he were at the useful task of “ inspector 
of roads ” in the troubled region above, or busy 
with his own spade amidst the black drifts. 

And suddenly there came to him, from the 
heart of the thick mist, a stranger of wondrous 
beauty. He was tail, straight, and vigorous, like 
a pure, shapely statue. Soft golden locks clus- 
tered around his open, generous brow, while the 
noble majesty of his figure, the sweet grace of his 
smile, combined to awe and attract the beholder. 
His large wings, from which he shook the mist 
like diamond drops, were transparent as those 
of the silver fly ; but light and shade went undu- 
lating through them, and shadows, like those of 
swollen rills, and exuberant forests, and flowery 
dells, were painted there as on a bubble. He 
waved a wand as it were of twisted sunbeams, 
and a circlet of light came all around him from 
the shadow. 

“ And so thou dost not like my ways? ” said he 
to Bartrand. 

‘‘ How should I do that, or otherwise?” an- 
swered he, reverently, “ for, trust my senses, 7 
never have seen thee in my life before.” 


THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


6^1 


“ Ah, but ill my works I am known to thee, 
for, Bartrand, I am that awkward, usurping fel- 
low. whose ignorance causes such dire mischief 
in this world of yours. I am the clerk of the 

WEATHER ! ” 

“ And, troth, if the weather would be but as 
fair and shining as your own bright face, it 
would be a black and lying tongue that ever 
spoke ill of the same,” answered Bartrand, with 
Milesian fervor. 

The stranger laughed. “ Well, Bartrand,” 
said he at length, “ let me see your books — 
your leger and yout day book.” 

“ As clane of debt or credit as e’er a high 
pasture of green grass,” answered Bartrand, 
lugging them along. 

“ Well kept, and all in order,” said the vision, 
as he radiated over them. 

“ But, Bartrand, you should not complain of 
me because you have not more trade.” 

“ Ah, but the rain and the mud,” replied 
Bartrand, with a brow lowering like the cloud 
overshadowing his ridgepole. “ How will the 
people come out when it is thus?” 

“ They will not come, now,” rejoined the 
weather sprite ; “ but when the rain is over and 
gone, they will come from their homes like the 
ants and the bees, and buy for all their wants 
People do not go shopping as they would go for 
fresh air, which they must have each day; and 


66 


THK clp:rk of tup: \vp:athek. 


were ail days cloudless, there would still be 
many when the custoniers should prove few. 
The sunshine bids them provide for the rain; 
and, when your labors are light, they are enjoy- 
ing their provident provisions.” 

“But might it not be amended just a bit?’ 
asked Bartrand, doubtfully. 

“ Look here,” replied his visitor ; “ keep, foi 
one year, an exact account of each day’s weather, 
just as it comes, hot or cold, rain or shine. Put 
it down carefully in your books, as you would 
keep an account of loss and profit. In one year 
I will return to look over the account.” 

“ And, please your honor,” responded Bar- 
trand, “ may I not add the items of what we 
would like it to be?” 

“ Not one word of that. But keep strict the 
memorandum ; ” and the weather breeder van- 
ished away. 

So, for a year, old Bartrand kept the minutes 

He took date of barometer, thermometer, bul 
not of the two odd ometers in his head and heart : 
and when the task was over he said to hims(;lf, 
“ Small comfort this to know what weather we 
have had this twelvemonth past, when so much 
of it was just the worst that could be sent us.” 

And then there stood before him in the sun- 
light of the morning the same bright vision thal 
had haunted him before. With his shining 


THE CLERR OF THE WEATHER. 


67 


wand he turned over the account of Bartiand, 
and then asked him if he would oblige him by 
keeping the same items one year longer. 

“ And sure so fine a gentleman as yourself 
might just oblige me for that same period ; and 
many thanks, though small trouble to yourself, 
all that blessed while ! ” , 

“ Explain, Bartrand I ” said the spirit. 

“ Just give me that jolly wand of yours while 
the sun goes round from the fishes to the old 
man with his water pot; small thanks that he 
does not shake it over us while the scorpion is 
biting with his fiery tongue ! Just give us the 
wand, and ye may sleep till ye quite get back 
your senses : for I will keep the thunder safe 
from waking ye close in its dark closet.” 

“ Well, Bartrand, you shall have it; and with 
it I resign all command over sun and cloud, 
drought and flood. Only keep strict the account 
in book and leger.” 

Again the spirit vanished, and as Bartrand 
glanced around to see whether truly he were in 
the body or out of it, he saw a withing light 
upon his staff, like the twisted wand of the 
vision. He flourished it like a shillalah over his 
head ; ‘‘ And now,” said he, “ for a harrycane 
that shall just sweep through the whole street, 
oarringthis place of my own, and the path abovu 
where I must go to dinner.” 


68 


THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


The poor fellow was stunned himself at the 
din and uproar he created. The thunder roared, 
and the lightning flashed ! fire, dust, wind, and 
water seemed a combination of the four ele- 
ments to obey his mandate. Trees were up- 
twisted by the roots, and laid like a French bar- 
ricade across the pavements. Awnings flapped 
in the gale like troubled wings, while smoke and 
dirt went eddying every where but up into 
the sky. Shops were in ruins and goods in 
fragments, chimneys prostrate and windows 
smashed. 

All but Bartrand’s shop, which stood bolt 
upright, like “ a pillar of salt,'’ amid the desola- 
tion ; or rather like a pillar without the salt. 

‘‘ Whisth ! shooh ! Behave now ! ” roared 
Bartrand, waving his staff. “ Have done, and 
let the harrycane begone with him ! ” The storm 
sank like a cowering cur, and the sunlight 
smiled on the havoc there was made. 

Bartrand was now satisfied with the weather, 
and he laid aside his stick, with its serpentine 
light, and swept his shop and dusted his sheh'es, 
glad to see that all who came to .look at '^he 
wonderful storm track stepped into his door to 
remark its capricious leaps and overshots, and 
usually ended by some purchase of necessari s 
unattainable elsewhere. He could now set hi'^ 
own prices and defy all competition ; but hi.* 


THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


69 


downcast neighbors were immediately looldrig 
about them to repair the breaches. So, when 
Bartrand heard a farmer crying his lands for sale 
in the market because the late storm had ruined 
his crops, he took his receipts, or rather his 
spoils, and bought the finely-situated homestead. 

Bartrand calculated little enough for others, 
but he wanted long bright days to set the land 
in order ; and there was sunshine until the vermin 
had strengthened so that they might almost eat 
him up, and the locusts and grasshoppers were 
snapping in the fields like a pattering hail storm. 
The harvest and hunter’s moons passed by in 
brightness, and then Bartrand bethought him of 
soaking the stubble and rubbish in the ground, 
and filling up the springs for winter. So he 
called for the rains, and the floods descended, 
sometimes in transient torrents, and again in 
gentle, unceasing drippings, day after day, and 
with short intervals, week after week. 

“ This is all very nice ! ” said Bartrand, ‘‘ but 
now we will have a strong, fresh wind, that shall 
blow the vapors out of our brains, and give vigor 
to our unstrung merves. The west wind ! Yes, 
that’s a man’s best friend; and can he have too 
much of his company ? I will have it here for a 
week;” and so he waved his staff, and the west 
wind raised its clear whistle. 

“ It is good for us, blood and bone,” said 


70 


THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


Bartrand, after a few days, “ but the roots in the 
gi'ound would be better preserved from it. We 
will ha\e a snow that shall lie like a warm coun- 
terpane over them.” And he waved his wand 
for the snow wraith, that came trailing down 
from the mountains with her white blankets on 
her arm. 

Then, for days and days, was she busy sowing 
her tiny feathers over hill, vale, and ice-bound 
river. Again Bartrand waved his staff, and the 
SHOW wraith sailed away from the horizon, the 
glad sunlight threw a dazzling radiance over the 
earth, and the little roots nestled quietly in their 
brown hiding-places. 

The merry sleighs flew round, and the ice 
was heaped up in huge blocks for summer use ; 
there where it had laid its crystal piers for a free 
bridge over the streamlet. 

Bartrand went into the ice business, and 
prophesied a good season. And so it was, right 
long and cold, and when his great ship was full 
of blocks, as firm as metal and clear as diamond, 
he sent her away to the ports of India. 

“ Ugh ! ” said the little children, who shivered 
in the streets ; and “ Ugh ! ” said Bartrand, as 
the beggars stopped him in the eye of the wind 
to plead for charity. 

“ It would take a thousand fortunes to maintain 
all these beggars, and make them comfortable 


THIi. CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


7i 


ivith light and fuel. Better give them sunshine 
at once. Besides, my own nerves and muscles 
have been tight strung too long.” 

Then he demanded sunshine ; and as the days 
grew long and the sun rode high the snows 
melted, and there were freshets on the streams 
and lakes in the pastures. Bartrand did not like 
the great upswelling of the waters, but he could 
not help them, and now saw the mischief of the 
long cold and heavy snows. He cared little for 
the muddy streets, while the sun and waters 
were soaking rich juices from the mfrck and rub- 
bish over his fields and gardens. 

But in good time the wet was over, and the 
drought came. Then the leaves sprang forth, 
and the green verdure on the hills ; the forests 
murmured lullabies to their soft, young offspring, 
and the orchards smiled in their roseate beauty. 
The beautiful Spring, with its birds, buds, and 
blossoms, was on the earth. 

“ This is very fine ; but now that the seed 
time is over I must give them all a soaking, 
and fill up the pools and cisterns for summer.” 
So he waved his staff for the early rains, and 
they came, drizzle, drizzle, half mist, half 
shower, but with the gentle touch young Nature 
asked. It needed patience to waif till the work 
was thoroughly done; and then the staff was 
waved for bright sunshine, and clear, unclouded 


72 


THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


skies. How beautiful the earth looked, and h dw 
vigorously she wrought, in her giant strength, for 
the future ! 

But Bartrand wanted his foreign ships ; and, 
at the risk of blight, he waved his staff for the 
east winds, that should fill their sails and waft 
them to the harbor. His lambkins shivered, and 
his chickens died ; but the vessels came, and the 
blight was not fatal. 

Then he called for sunny days to dry the 
meadow patch, and after that for rains to quench 
the thirst of highland pastures. It seemed a 
heterogeneous medley of rain and shine ; for 
much of the time Bartrand knew not what 
weather would really suit him best. The corn 
wanted wet when potatoes wanted drought; 
and the hay would suffer if the grain must 
thrive. Then came the ripening time for fruits 
and plants, and the hot sweltering mists came 
smoking over the earth, veiling the fierce sun- 
beams, and moistening the ground ; though Bar- 
trand himself, and his family, were all a- weary 
of the clammy noisome air. But then he be- 
thought him of a grand thunder shock, with a 
hail-stone chorus,” that should invigorate their 
frames and purify the earth. And thus on, 
until the time came round when the vision 
should return and reclaim his wand. His fields 
were white to the harvest, and his orchards bur- 


THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER. 


73 


dened with fruit. “ I have done it well,” thought 
he ; “ that other one may now see that a lesson 
or two for him would little be amiss.” 

Suddenly the same grave, radiant, statue-like 
being, with the transparent wings and golden 
locks, was in the air before him. 

“ But have not I done well, Mr. Weather- 
Clerk, All-Ometer, or however I should call 
you?” demanded Bartrand, impatiently. 

“ Bring me your books,” replied the vision. 

Bartrand opened them before him, the last 
year’s record and the present, which was all but 
gone. Together they bent over the leaves, and 
compared them, page for page, week for week, 
month for month ; and Bartrand saw that just 
such weather as he had complained of, when 
another had disposed it, he had ordered himself 
when the seasons were in his power. 

The vision resumed the sunny wand, and with 
it sun, shower, shade, and shadow. He left Bar- 
trand a better man, too wise now to complain 
when strong winds from the west bore back his 
ships and rent their sails, too understanding to 
open his lips when the hurricane beat down his 
grain stalks to the earth. When the east wind 
came, he said, “ It is well;” and to the western 
breeze, “Thou art, indeed, a friend;” to the 
north wind, “ Thou art powerful in thy services; ” 
and to the south, “ Thou art a sweetly perfumed 


74 


EVENING THIRD. 


nurse.’’ The sun, to him, was now as a king 
in his chariot, scattering golden largesse ; and 
the clouds were as gentle angels and ministers 
of mercy. 


It was “ Very well “ Yes, a very good story, 
for So said they all. Even Phil and 

P'red were loud in their verdict that it was “ a 
very good story for Ben to write I ” 

Ben really did not know whether to feel com- 
plimented or not. He thought it best, though, 
to take it all in good part ; so he got up and 
scraped and bowed, and said he was “ infinitely 
obliged,” — “ not at all prepared for so gracious 
a reception,” — “ really quite overwhelmed,” — 
“ in his sky there was now no cloud,” — “ and, 
however storms might rage around, within was 
brightest sunshine.” 

Then he drew his white cambric over his eyes, 
and pressed his hand upon his heart, and seated 
himself again, amid the renewed plaudits of the 
company. 

Aunt Mary told him she intended to draw a 
sketch of his Weather Clerk, though she would 
have to lose the beauty of his wings, which after 
all were the prettiest things about him; and 
Ben was quite consoled. 


EVENING THIRD. 


75 


The project was mooted of getting up a draw- 
ing for every story. Aunt Mary and Lottie, 
even Evaleen and Sophy, could assist in this 
plan ; and thus there would be “ a plurality 
of pleasures for them,” said Eva. Ben thought 
there would be a quadrupality, if they got up 
an illustration of Phil’s horse, also ; and this 
was promised : Lottie undertaking the “ Fairies,” 
Aunt Mary daguerreotyping “ Old Bartrand,” 
and Sophy promising to take good care of the 
charger, which Phil said he must “ c^harge her ” 
to array in most unseemly, guise ; his only fear 
being that the poor brute would, in such lovely 
hands, grow too beautiful and shapely. Sophy 
promised that “ it should be horrible ; ” and with 
this assurance the party separated for the night. 


foEniiig /ntirtji. 


It was Sophy’s turn to entertain the company 
At least, it turned out she was the only one 
ready to do so. 

Sophy was the youngest of the writing club, 
and had felt highly honored by being invited to 
join it. She had taken extra pains to acquit her- 
self with honor, and for the last three days had 
oeen secluded in her room, while others were en- 
ioying themselves in games and plays. She had 
also been frequently observed to steal into the cold 
library, with her shawl on her shoulders, and pull 
over histories, geographies, travels, maps, &c. ; 
and Ben, who had observed these manceuvres, 
conjectured there would be something coming 
of a more recent date than Alexandrian lore. 
He could not guess what; perhaps a fable of 
the Cid, or of Christopher Columbus, or of some 
Saracen, for all the girl’s researches were of “the 
noble land of Spain.” She could not meet him 
at the table, or pass him in the hall, or shrink 
from him in the parlor, without hearing some 
welcoming quotation. “ Seek by the silvery 
Darro!” “Flow, Rio Verde!” “Thus sang 

76 


EVENING FOURTH. 


77 


a Zegri maid ! ” “ Bird that art singing on 

Ebro’s side ! ” 

“ There are sounds in the dark Roncesvalles ; 

There are echoes on Biscay’s wild shore.” 

Sophy was seriously annoyed ; and her mother 
congratulated her for firmness when she found 
she had not been turned from her purpose by 
this nonsense. 

She brought her manuscript to the table, with 
the first lighter to the tall lamp; and it was a 
goodly mass of scribbling, though in a very fine 
hand, ‘‘ to make it seem shorter,” as Ben sug- 
gested. 

Sophy laughed, and told them that as Phil, and 
Ben, and Fred (for she had peeped at the begin- 
ning of his story) had all written about old men, 
she had taken the liberty to choose a young man 
for her hero. 

“ Thus sang a Zegri maid!” whispered Ben, 
in one of those undertones that reach every 
where; and Sophy, to get rid of him, com- 
menced her story of Swans and Lilies, or 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


Lopez began to think he did not like Juana 
because she was not beautiful like the donnas a1 
the opera, or the sweet singers at the vintage 
feasts. But Lopez did love the beakers of warm 
milk Juana brought him from her goats, and he 
loved the fresh olives and new cakes, the large 
grape clusters and the sweet oranges, she still 
shared with him from the astrologer’s garden 
And he did love when he was away at the hos- 
tel, or the dance, or the opera, gazing upon the 
tinselled beauties, whose smiles were broad, open, 
and impartial as the lights on the Guadalquiver ; 
he did love then to remember that Juana was at 
her home ; that only the old garden wall 
separated that home from his own ; that she 
peeped in on the old miser as he locked his cabi- 
net and sat by the doorway to munch a crust ; 
and he loved to feel assured that another watch- 
ful glance told her when he was quietly asleep, 
and the old house safe from fire or the robbers. 
It was good of Juana to think so of his father 
and of him. 

But when he was in the midst of those festive 
scenes, when the loud orchestral music wavered 

78 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


8\ 


through the theatrum ; when the dancers floated 
before his eyes in spangled robes of many-colored 
beauty ; when the rose, and purple, and soft blue 
mingled wantonly in the maze of brilliance ; then 
he thought little of Juana. Then he would have 
given all the pleasant recollections of their child- 
hood ; of her tender, thoughtful regard from hei 
infancy ; of the solitude that had so darkened his 
youngest days, save when she had reflected light 
upon them ; he would have given all these for one 
smile, such as the prima donna gave to the cava- 
lier who threw her the brightest garland or rarest 
jewel. He dreamed of a future in which Juana 
had but little part, but in which song, and dance, 
and festive angels were supreme ; and he sighed 
to think that future was not more wholly at his 
(X)mmand ; that the foretaste of pleasures, which 
were to be his aim or his inheritance, that this 
foretaste was his by sufferance only ; and the 
sighs deepened as the fear came to him that 
youth, with its rich pleasure zest, might all be 
passed ere the means of life were his. But Lo- 
pez never allowed himself to doubt Juana's 
goodness as he had done her beauty. Indeed, 
the subject admitted no doubt ; so he was still 
kind to her, and told her stories gathered from the 
goatherds and muleteers, and sang the airs that 
floated through the villages from the d ser- 
ranos, and talked of guerilla fights, and strange 


82 THE MYSTIC LAKE. 

adventures in the sierras, at least strange to her, 
who staid so quietly at home, and never heard 
aught but the bird songs in the chestnut trees, 
the bee hum in the vineyard, or the olive dell ; 
or the buzzing of flies in the orange grove, or 
about the flowers of the old man’s garden. 
Juana’s mother had been housekeeper to Gonza- 
lez, the astrologer ; and during her life, the little 
girl had never spoken to her master. She only 
saw him when he wandered through the garden 
to take the air, or sat by the ruined fountain at 
the tiny lake within its bounds, or when the 
tinkling of a little bell in the high turret an- 
nounced his wish for some service or refresh- 
ment. But when old Katherine was sick, and 
died, the young daughter displayed so much of 
good sense, industry, and quick capacity, that 
the astrologer resolved to transfer the house du- 
ties to her, rather than to admit a stranger to 
their rude habitation. 

There had been strange reports in oJd Kather- 
ine’s time that Juana was more nearly related to 
Gonzalez than to her; but judging from his cold, 
distant deportment towards her, it was as probable 
tliat the child had no claim of blood upon either. 

But she had now a claim upon the care and 
consideration of the only one of her surviving 
guardians that was not met, for Gonzalez in his 
turret and his studies thought little of the dangers 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


83 


of the lone girl growing up in the shadow of his 
roof tree, yci exposed to the designs of the lazy 
Lopez. Exposed, at least, to heart trials — for 
such Juana now endured, as the times began to 
change ; and Lopez, so kind to her as a servitor, 
forgot the equal fortunes and misfortunes of 
their mutual childhood. 

Now Juana’s life had changed, from one of 
play with Lopez, alternated by menial duties for 
her mother, to one of some responsibility and 
care, though the astrologer’s housekeeping was 
but a simple affair. To carry him sparkling 
water from the fountain, with cakes and oil, was 
the most frequent duty ; but there was labor over 
many little things. Lopez was at first as help- 
ful as when they had only played at life’s duties. 
He brought back the goats when they wandered 
far into the rocky sierras ; he planted pulse, and 
mended up the rents in the low wall, all but 
the gap that had so long been the gateway for 
themselves. He bundled fagots for her from 
the decaying trees in the grove and orchard ; he 
looped back or trimmed up the vines that were 
darkening too much the low gable where Juana 
toiled, though they did not meddle with the 
creepers that went scrambling all over the old 
turret, and must have screened too wholly the 
sunshine from the slit windows of Gonzalez. 

For all this Juana was so grateful that she 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


could not do too much, in her own small way* 
of mending, and waiting, and watching for him, 
or of sharing all her little luxuries and comforts, 
as when they had played within the call of 
mother Katherine. 

But these helps and gifts were now so com^* 
mon to Lopez, that he did not value them to 
their worth ; and the every-day face of Juana, so 
kind and expressive, had for him no beauty like 
that which attracted him to the dancers or the 
singers. 

But how did Lopez, the miser’s boy, get 
money for the dance, the drama, or the song ? 
Lopez could get money for nothing else ; none 
for a trade, or any other business ; only his share 
of the meagre househeld rations, a few pence 
for the daily marketing, and a round of duties 
more simple and unvaried than Juana’s, inas- 
much as the miser lived more scantily than the 
astrologer; but he had the assurance that one 
day he was to be the owner of a great fortune. 

“ Then,” said he to himself, “ then I will do 
well for Juana. She shall not pick fruit, and 
gather pulse, and dip water for old Gonzalez. I 
will give her a marriage portion, or a dowry for 
a convent, if she likes ; ” and he thought this a 
magnanimous intention. 

But now he got the means for frolics and 
shows in anticipation. Any day the old misei 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


85 


might go vrliere he could not take his money ; 
and it was worth while for all the managers and 
showmen to be on good terms with Lopez, to 
stimulate his love of the pleasures that they 
offered, and then, in good time, would come 
their pickings from the miser’s hoard. 

So Lopez was one of the loudest to shout 
applause at the beautiful sopranos who came to 
the opera, or the light-footed artistes who en- 
chanted at the vaudeville. The seraphic Elmina, 
and the celestial Theresa, were now the divini- 
ties of his worship ; and only, as she was so 
serviceable, was his faithful Juana at all remem- 
bered. She alone mourned over his dissipations 
and defections ; she alone still cherished faith in 
his heart-goodness, and prophesied his return to 
duty and to usefulness. 

Now her days were very lonely. There were 
no more for her the snatches of the guerilla march, 
or catches of serrano music ; only in Lopez’s 
own doorway the faint humming of soprano 
novelties, and the last creations of the orchestra. 

“ Do not go away to-night,” said Juana to 
him, one eve at sunset time. “ The old man has 
twice fallen to-day, and it was me who helped 
him to his feet. There may be but a poor sleep 
for him upon his ])allet in that old room.” 

“.luana,” replied Lopez, “you know that all 
Valencia says old Gonzalez is an astrologer.” 


86 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


“ He is a constant student,’^ replied Juana, 
evasively, “ and he knows the stars.” 

“ I wish,” he answered, “ that he would read 
my horoscope, and tell if I am to be ^’ich and 
prosperous, and how long I must wait for this 
fortune, or any other fate.” 

“Would it do you any good to know?” 

“ I do believe it would help to make me grow 
a better man. Only think, what a shambling, 
uncertain life I live, not knowing how long it 
will last, nor which way I had better turn.” 

Juana looked as though the shadow of some 
old heroine had fallen upon her. Her form 
straightened, and there was light, like that of a 
far-fallen starbeam, in her eyes. 

“ Lopez,” she said, “ I will do lor you to-night 
what I have never done for myself. I will ask 
old Gonzalez for your fortune, for your fate. He 
may be angry, but I will risk it for your sake. 
Only promise me this, that you will not go to 
the song or dance ; that you will remain here, 
near your old father.” 

“ Ay, I will readily promise this much,” gayly 
answered Lopez. 

“ It is now his musing time,” rejoined Juana. 
‘ Now, and until the twilight is all over, and then 
he will light his taper, which we can see through 
the loopholes of the turret. Then I will go to 
him, and you can watch, if you please, the flick- 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


87 


ering of my lamp through the windows as J 
climb the turret.” 

Lopez was too much excited to notice the 
sadness in her voice, nor did it occur to him that 
it was sorrow, or the pain of gi'eat doubt and 
suspense, that had instigated her to this un- 
wonted invasion. He did not think how the 
passing away of his friendship for her, at least 
of the supreme regard and confidence of their 
childhood, had overshadowed her heart, and that 
there were womanly anticipations of an utter 
forgetfulness. 

So she said but little to Lopez, as they waited 
for the shadows to overclimb the sierras, and the 
sunset to die away in purple glories from the 
distant mountain, but she did not forget him, 
there by her side ; she brought him new milk 
and soft cakes, a cluster of grapes and a ripe 
orange, and she presented her little feast with 
her old girlish smile. 

At length the student lamp, like a faint star, 
was gleaming from the turret top, and Juana 
said “good by” to Lopez. 

The boy drew her to his arms a moment, as if 
to hold her back from danger, and would have 
given her again an old child kiss, as once had 
been his wont; but Juana slipped from his grasp 
and was gone. 

He watched the light as it fired up in the 


88 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


gable end, then its reappearance by the ivied 
entrance arch, its darkening at the turret’s foot, 
and then its gleaming through the loophole slits, 
one over another, growing longer in its darken- 
ings, as if a wearied step was bearing it aloft ; 
and then hin* heart beat hard as if in sympathy, 
when it arrived at the upper floor, there, on the 
forbidden platform, which the desperate girl was 
so boldly invading. He saw her shadow, and 
that of the opening door, as she entered, and 
then all was lost in the room’s redoubled bright- 
ness. There was a waiting that seemed long to 
him ; but still the lights burned on, and there was 
no returning of Juana. He could not go in and 
lie down upon his bed to sleep ; so there, as the 
bell struck the midnight hours, he leaned listlessly 
against the broken wall, and thought of his fate 
and of Juana. 

By and by, through the drowsy stillness, he 
heard a fluttering in the astrologer’s garden, and 
looking through the starlight to see if Juana were 
coming on wings to him, he saw that the lake- 
let was covered with white swans, swimming to 
and fro in the clear sky sheen. As he gazed 
longer they stopped still among the snowy lilies, 
and to his confused imaginings the white wings 
lifted up, the swan’s form disappeared therein, 
and only lilies lifted their bright bells from the 
leaf-covered waters. Again the broad petals 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


89 


curved over, the swan’s crest reappeared, and 
arched necks bent where stiff stamens had cen- 
tred in their gold-tipped lily beauty. 

Lopez thought each swan’s eye turned to him, 
and when the lilies swayed over on their sides, 
their floating tops seemed opening towards his 
gaze. He slipped from his rest upon the mossy 
stones, and soon was at the lake and close to 
the trickling fountain. As he did this, a lily 
arose from her watery bed, and reaching her 
lithe stem to him, the open bell glowed larger 
and larger, until he stood at the opal entrance of 
some unknown descent. He gave, himself up to 
the enchantment, and stood within the lily’s 
bloom, the soft brilliance and sweet perfume of 
its arched dome. Down, down the spiral way, 
where streaks of green and crimson light were 
wound in the transparence, his fevered foot 
descended ; and then, far, deep below the lakelet’s 
bed, and every sound above, but the faint echoes 
of the fluttering swans, he stood in the still 
darkness. He pressed forward where there was 
open space ; and like the closing of a flower was 
the rolling up of a screen, when he stood within 
a vast hall, of shape like an inverted bell, and soft 
traced flutings, like the blending petals of that 
flower from which the whole was modelled, 
Like a lily on a porcelain salver was this high 
dome on its opal pavement ; and its own rich 


90 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


bloom was better than another light could be. 
Soft odors, like those that float from over a bios 
soraing lake, were in the hall ; and at the apex of 
the dome, like the convergence of a calyx, were the 
brilliant-colored lights — the petal streamings of 
purest red and green. There was a golden ball 
depending from the centre, with a soft, chased 
surface, that might have won gigantic bees for 
clustering pollen. Lopez had only half enough 
admired the hall, when an old spider-legged 
domino appeared and motioned him to pass to 
another hall of the lilies. He entered as a petal 
fold closed over him, and saw seated there a 
lady of surpassing beauty, with an arched neck, 
proudly curving, like an enamoured swan ; and 
the floating of her spread drapery was like that 
of downy wings on the lake’s still surface. 

Lopez devoured this swan’s queen with his 
eyes, for she was far more beautiful than any 
dancer he had ever seen ; and when she spoke, 
her voice was sweet and full, like that of the 
richest-toned soprano. 

She called Lopez to her side, and bade him 
stand and tell all his adventures ; of his home, of 
the astrologer’s lake, turret, and garden ; of the 
miser and his hoard ; only she bade him be still, 
with a voice more like a peacock than a swan, 
when he told her of Juana. 

“ But she is not beautiful, like you,” said 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


91 


Lopez, “ nor can she dance or sing, or even array 
herself to be comely. Yet she has been good to 
the old astrologer, to my father, and to me.” 

“ Hush ! ” screeched the swan queen, with hei 
neck drawn back in fury; then she smiled and 
said, “ Tell me of the dancers and the songs!” 

liOpez was willing to talk of these until lie 
was very tired ; and then the lady begged him 
to bring her sweet drops from a crystal bush in 
the garden, which he did, and was astonished at 
the glittering beauty of the flowers, trees, and 
temples there. 

There were arabesque lattices around the light 
parterres, and such a mingling of light sculp- 
ture, with fretted buds and garlands, and the 
lily breath of cut and real blossoms, that what 
was growth, and what was chiselled plant or 
tree, poor Lopez could not tell. But he found 
the white drops, like snow berries by a crystal 
fountain, and took them to the wondrous lady. 
She gave him some sweet clusters ; and there 
was in them flavor like a lily’s scent. After this 
he plucked the many frosted fruits, and quenched 
his thirst with the melting crystals of the garden. 

He was so well pleased with this life that the 
lady said to him one day, — 

“ Lopez, I am weary of the spider-legged 
domino, and wish you to stay here and be my 
constant attendant.” 


92 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


Lopez was so ravished with her beauty and 
her riches, that he forgot his father and Juana, 
even the dancers and the singers ; and he said, 
“ I will stay ! ” 

But though it was better than blending ap- 
plause with other admirers at a grand spectacle 
to worship the graceful swan queen, yet after a 
while it grew quite tedious. Every day the 
spider-legged domino carried him away to a crys- 
tal cell in the dim twilight ; and every day he 
brought him back again, to find his adored one 
renewed in beauty, refreshed with rest, and trans- 
ported with joy at his presence after this tran- 
sient absence. But there she ever was — so 
exacting in her demands upon his service and 
attention. He must tell over the same stories 
and sing the same songs the thousandth time, it 
she wished it. He must roam abroad in the gar- 
den to find the frosted fruits ; and she was quer- 
ulous in her complaints that the finest were not 
found. 

When satiety had somewhat abated his ad- 
miration of her charms, she blamed him that the 
ardor of his ecstasy was over ; she had nothing 
to relate that might relieve his tedium ; to admire 
her charms must be his lifelong service ; to talk 
of home and of Juana was especially forbidden ; 
and in his heart he began to fear that, to revel in 
the smiles of unchanging beauty, might prove 
rather a monotonous life business. 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


93 


A sort of despair had made him bold at last; 
for one day he ventured to incur her displeasure, 
he requesting her to walk with him ; indeed, he had 
never seen her rise from the low throne, or dais, 
where in state she always received him. He 
thought he saw an angry flush pass over the 
snowy bust, the long-arched, stainless throat, the 
rounded cheeks, and polished brow; and then 
she said, ‘‘ You do not love me, Lopez ! ” 

“ I would see you in more than one phase of 
beauty,’’ he replied. “ Who could sit more 
beautifully than you to be admired? What 
monarch, in all creation, can bend the head 
more gracefully under its sovereign weight of 
power ? Where is there a prouder turn of the 
neck, or a more graceful curve to the snowy 
throat? The bust and arms, with their faint 
tinge of coralline, so outlined in their drapery, 
like cygnets’ wings, — what could ravish more 
the sight? But then the other beauteous limbs 
lie coiled beneath that envious robe like swans’ 
feet in a stream ; and the step, so like a dance as 
it must be, — why should it never be displayed ? 
The movement of the foot, — why hidden, when 
that of the arm is so entrancing ? ” 

At that moment old Spider Legs came in ; 
but when he was next admitted to his adored 
one, she was standing. . The long robes were 
fallen to her full stature ; the balloon-like drapery 


94 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


of the arm had all collapsed, and shrunken tc 
her side ; the neck, no longer arched, was fright- 
fully straightened up; and there, in glistening 
white, she stood, within the lily hall, a tall, live, 
radiant lily. Her crown of gold was clasped 
by glittering amber bees, and, with the lifted 
sceptre, answered well to the odorous pollen 
stalks of a full-blossomed flower. But the 
curved, brooding swan rest, all was gone. 

“ Lopez,” she said, come with me.” 

She floated like a lily in the breeze before 
him, to a temple of ivory, carved with the 
minutest open work of arabesque design, and, 
through the fairy lattices, was the perfume of 
sweetest water flowers. A wreath of inlaid 
scarlet coral was all around the dome, and ivory, 
mingled with coral mosaic, formed the pave on 
which they trod. At a motion of her sceptre, 
the inlaid wainscoting flew back, and there ex- 
posed her crystal cabinets, where insects of every 
kind lay petrified in amber. Golden green and 
ruby purple, with silver spots and shining eyes, 
were some of the most prominent among these ; 
but in all there was a strain as of an embalmed 
agony, and Lopez asked her why these beautiful 
insects had been thus sepulchred. 

“ These,” said she, “ were once my admirers ; 
out one after another they passed from me, as a 
bee passes from a lily to a rose or violet, or even 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


95 


to a clover blossom or daisy, and I was forgotten, 
i did not forget them, and they are here.’’ 

“ And the old spider-legged domino, — was he 
also one of those treacherous ones ? ” 

“ He did not desert me for another ; but he 
grew weary of admiring, and offered at last to 
serve me.” 

“How can they cease to admire?” asked 
Lopez, in a tone of agonized rapture. 

The lily queen sighed — “ Alas ! I do not 
know.” 

Lopez was profuse in his protestations ; and, 
when they had passed back through the gardens 
to the lily hall, he threw himself at her feet in 
passionate devotion, as she settled back with the 
old swan-like air and grace ; and again from the 
back falling tissues appeared the lovely arm, 
with its finger tips of coralline, and the sweet 
throat, arching softly over, as if satisfied thus to 
rest after the exhibition of all that graceful move- 
ment and despotic coquetry. 

Then she motioned Spider Legs, and Lopez 
was taken again away. 

In his solitude he could not refrain from 
thoughts of Juana; of her unfailing sweetness 
and gentleness ; how patient she had been during 
all his wanderings to the singers and the dancers; 
how she still watched over his interests, and 
advised him for his good ; and how he had aban- 


9t5 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


do>ied hei, contrary to his promise, on the very 
night she had risked, perhaps, her life to gratify 
his selfish curiosity ; how, forgetful of her, he 
had promised allegiance to one so dazzling to 
his eye, but now abhorrent to his heart. 

While thus musing, time insensibly slipped 
by, and then old Spider Legs came back to bring 
him to his devotions. 

Again the swan queen smiled her blandish- 
ments ; but Lopez, after kneeling a while, mur- 
muring of his'love, begged her to join him in a 
blithesome dance. 

“ Alas ! ” said she, angrily, “ why ask me this ? ” 

“ To see your grace and floating movement 
in its utmost splendor,” he replied. 

Again the arms fell hidden in the elongated 
drapery ; the queen arose in all her stately lily 
pride, and floated round the bell-domed hall, 
then sank like a swan upon the the waters, down 
to her dais, when the fair arms reappeared amid 
her sleeves like rosy muscles in a downy wing. 

Lopez wondered, and ventured to speak. 

“ Will you not,” said he, “ when you may de- 
light me with a dance again, extend your arms 
to mine, and, by the slightest touch of your 
finger tips, inspire me with the melody of your 
motion ? ” 

“ Lopez,” said she, “ you would love to pos^ 
eess a monopoly of graces and delights. When 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


97 


1 have limbs for dancing, I have no arms to 
extend to any one. When I sit, and alone need 
them, these useful members are mine in their 
perfection.” 

Lopez did not dare to express his horror and 
surprise. The mystic being had well explained 
herself. She was not perfect in all the limbs, but 
could transfer at will the perfection of her grace 
and beauty to either the one or the other of them. 
She was either the graceful, stately lily, in her 
floating step, or the lovely brooding swan, with 
such perfection of head, and neck, and wing, in 
her throned sittings. Yes, she was beautiful, 
either as swan or lily ; but there was now such 
an overpowering sense of awful deficiency, if 
not mutilation, that he could no more love her. 
Through several interviews he tried to play well 
his part of ravished adorer, for the remembrance 
of the sepulchred flies, who might once have 
been so like himself, was ever haunting him. 
But he could not quite conceal his fear, pain, 
disquiet, and disgust ; and fearing it might some 
time break from him, he sought old Spider Legs, 
and begged of him the secret to the lily’s egress. 

“ Do you renounce the worship of all mere 
beauty, if I will let you go ? ” said the servitor ; 
and when Lopez looked up into his face to 
promise, he thought he saw, as through a mask, 
the features of old Gonzalez, the astrologer. 


98 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


‘‘ If I can only return to my home from here,” 
he answered, I will henceforth love only the 
simple, and worship only the good.” 

Spider Legs smiled grimly, and led him back 
to the old ruined fountain, through some sub- 
terranean way, and then he rubbed his eyes to 
see if he were really on the earth again. The 
morning star was shining dimly, and he hastened 
to his own door, for he thought he heard a 
moaning. It was so. The old miser lay there 
in a sleep, but the last change had come to him 
in his slumber. He did not know Lopez was at 
his side; but he fumbled about for the keys of 
his cabinet, and held them firmly in his death 
grasp, till the hand stiffened over them. Then 
Lopez threw back the sheet upon his face, and 
went out, moaning in his loneliness for .Juana. 
She came instantly, but the neat black walking 
dress had been laid aside this morn, and she was 
clad in simple white, as for a vintage dance or 
bridal. A lily, wet with lake water or the morn- 
ing dew, was in her hair ; and a silver arrow 
bound back the black tresses, like a feather from 
a glistening wing. 

Lopez started to see her thus arrayed, and a 
painful memory came to him. But there was 
pleasure too, with all this pain and confused 
remembrance, to see her active step, the neat, 
light foot, and the ever helpful hand ; and when 


THE MYSTIC LAKE. 


99 


she raised her head to gaze into his eyes, he 
thought he saw in her a new beauty, like the 
first smile of the swan queen on him. 

She spoke tenderly to him of his loss, and 
then busied herself about the dead. When she 
brought him the keys, taken out from the dead 
hand’s grasp, she said, “ Lopez, these will open 
to you the sources of long-coveted pleasures ! ” 

“ I wish for nothing now but you,” he replied, 
with a burst ot sorrow. “ I am alone : will you 
not come to me ? for I will forget all others in a 
never-ceasing love for my childhood’s friend.” 

“We will ask the astrologer,” she replied, 
“ and he can tell if the stars be propitious to 
our union.” 

They went up together into the old turret, but 
the astrologer was not there. 

His books, and charts, and instruments were 
strewed around as when Juana had seen him the 
night before ; nor was he in the large chair of the 
Jark recess, where all night long he had bound 
her in a dreamless sleep. 

They went back through the garden. There 
they found him by the lake side, stiff with the cold 
tricklings of the fountain, motionless, and still. 

He never looked upon the stars again : but 
Lopez and Juana took possession of the old gar- 
den, gable, and turret ; and this, with the miser’s 
hoard, was to them a great possession. 


100 


EVENING FOURTH. 


Lopez wandered no more abroad for b(‘,auty 
for Juana, whose hands and feet he thought so 
perfect, was henceforth his model of feminine 
loveliness. 


Ben said that Sophy had displayed good 
judgment, or a true woman’s tact, in one thing : 
she had made her story take up so much of the 
evening, there was but little time left to criticize 
it. He thought he had discovered an anachronism 
or two in it, but it was too late to see about it. 

Sophy said she was in no haste to retire, and 
would be glad to listen to any criticism. 

Katie asked what an anachronism was ; and 
Ben replied that it was “ a violent yoking to- 
gether of two dates, eras, places, or things, which 
had no natural affinity for each other, and could 
only be kept in wedded thraldom by the most 
arbitrary force.” 

Katie looked particularly enlightened. Phil 
said it was “ bringing the Guadalquiver into 
a channel which that romantic stream never 
thought of forcing its way into, though it had 
performed many out-of-the-way feats.” 

Sophy looked troubled. 

Pier father reassured her, by telling her she 
had done very well ; though, he added, “ that 
he might not lose his reputation as a judge;” 


EVENING FOURTH. 


101 


BO Ben insinuated that it had the usual fauds o^ 
a fanciful young writer ; it was a little extrava 
gant — not classically simple and clear. 

He instanced the mysterious connection be 
tween the astrologer and fountain, with some 
other minutiiE of the story, and the too sudden 
conversion of Lopez into a sensible fellow, with 
the too trite ending by killing off so many at 
a time. 

But her riiother thought they should not over- 
look the good idea in it, of the beautiful arms at 
the expense of feet, and the vice versa — the 
display of one perfection, which has been often 
thus obtained through the loss of others quite 
as essential to a harmoniously developed person 
or mind. 

Sophy was comforted, and bade good night 
to the little girls with a tap of her roll ; and then 
the children left the room. 


CuEEing fxlW), 

It was Fred’s appointment, and he was pre- 
pared to meet it : like Sophy, he had taken un- 
usual pains to prove himself worthy of the post 
assigned him, and had bestowed more thought 
on his story than both the other boys together. 

He had finished his work very much to his 
own satisfaction, and when joked once or twice 
about his visits to the library, he disclaimed, he 
said, “ any references, except to the original 
Alexandrian library.” To be sure, he wanted 
to know that he spelled words correctly, espe- 
cially when they were neither English nor even 
European. 

Katie and Ellen yawned at the very thought 
of foreign words, which Fred, with his Latin, did 
not know how to spell without going into the 
library ; and Ben asked what sort of a lexicon 
' ‘ Lalla Rookh ” was. Fred was too proud of 
his achievement to be at all scared. 

He said he had sought but two words in “ Lal- 
la Rookh.” He knew them to be there, and did 
not know at the pioment where else to find them, 
though he could*. have read them without their 

102 


% 


EVENING FIFTH. 


103 


being spelled at all ; yet he wished them to be 
right in his manuscript. 

“ And that was right ! ” said his father. 

“Yes, right to have it all in apple pie order for 
the printer f said Ben, with a droll expression. 

“ And who knows but that our stories may be 
printed some time ? ” said Sophy, who looked 
very willing, to martyrize herself for the benefit 
of more children like Katie and Ellen. 

Fred began his story of Abdallah, or 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


As Abdallah, merchant of Bagdad, was 
counting up his gains, he saw arise from tlie 
casket a demon of most unearthly visage, but a 
most earthly vesture. But, through the scabs 
and scales of clotted dirt that seemed his outer 
garment, there gleamed, like fire through lava 
crust, or sun through cloud, the brightness of a 
living gold. A golden demon to the very core 
was the being, grinning his sardonic, question- 
able smile, and saying, with a laugh that was 
fearful to hear, — 

“ Now, old boy, I am come at last to give you 
my services ! ” 

“ Very familiar,” quoth Abdallah in his heart; 
“ old boy, yourself, and begone to you ! ” But 
aloud he spoke softly, as he stroked his beard, 
“ But when, where, and how long am I to have 
the talisman of gold ? ” 

Here I now ! and, if at all, for a whole year ! 
But, Abdallah, you are not to be so much more 
favored than myself. You too must be a golden 
demon I ” Abdallah winced. 

“ Allah Acbah ! ” said he slowly. 

“ None of your Allahs ! ” shouted the demon 

104 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


107 


angl’ily. “ You should be the contented Mos- 
lem ; or, if not so, you may be a golden demon.’ 

“ Great is gold ! ” said Abdallah, “ and the 
sovereign of all gold is good ! I am his slave ! ” 
and he bowed to the ground. The demon 
laughed until the echoes came rumbling back 
from the very depths of the earth. “ Now, Ab- 
dallah,” said he, as he laid on him a claw, whose 
touch was like consuming fire, “ you have the 
gift of THE GOLDEN TOUCH, aiid all riches are at 
your command. It is yours for a year and a 
day ; and then I will return to remand or renew 
it ; ” and there was a horrid sarcasm in the word 
renew, Abdallah bowed again, until his beard 
swept the floor ; and when he arose, the demon 
had vanished. So he locked his casket, and left 
the bazaar. When he came to his house, he met 
his faithful slave in silence, and retired to his 
inner chamber. He threw himself upon his 
couch and slept; and when the morning came, 
he awoke to the muezzin’s call, and to the fresh 
sunlight glowing on the high minarets. There 
was great joy awakened by the sight of those 
golden pinnacles, and he sprang from the cush- 
ions in the strength of his rare power. But he 
looked back upon the print of his own figure, like 
the swathings of a golden mummy, where he had 
slept. His feet and hands left golden tracka 
wherever they touched, and Abdallah groaned in 


108 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


spirit as he saw the thick golden stains around 
him. He pondered long in silence, and then 
called his faithful slave. Selim was an Arab 
who had been conquered in his first battle with 
his enemies, and because of his youth, strength, 
and beauty, they gave him the choice of death, 
or life with servitude. So he chose slavery, for 
he was very young, and there is always hope with 
life. He was sold in the market to Abdallah, 
and in the greatness of his fidelity he proved his 
princely birth. 

Abdallah told him of the strange blessing 
he now possessed, and proved it by the traces 
all around, and by laying his hand on Selim’s 
turban, which was changed to gold. Then he 
took a shekel, and made its likeness in wax, 
which a touch transmuted to gold, and thus he 
multiplied riches until the morning was passed. 
Selim brought him bread, fruit, and wine; but as 
his hand grasped the viands, they became golden 
mockeries of the refreshment he sought. He 
spurned the golden dates and glittering goblet ; 
and when he saw the bread even as a stone to 
him, he sighed heavily. Selim took them away, 
and all day long Abdallah paced, with a heart 
heavy as gold, the fretted path between his bed 
and casement. His steps became more weary 
as each new fallen fold of his mantle became a 
solid brocade, and every tassel a golden bell 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


109 


Hunger too was gnawing at his vitals ; and for 
a year more was all this to be endured ! Again, 
at nightfall, Selim brought cakes and wine, and 
Abdallah lay far back among the golden cushions, 
while the slave passed the meat and drink beyond 
the organs of touch to those of taste. It was a 
hazardous task ; for a slip of the arm or fall of 
the head might have aurified him forever. But 
the calm strength of his devotedness saved him ; 
and Abdallah was strengthened and rejoiced. 
Then he tried to sleep ; but his mattress was like 
the hollow of a golden coffin, where his form once 
sunk into an elastic couch. His back became 
a galling sore, and his sides were chafed or 
numbed. But the merchant had a stout frame, 
and his heart could at first rejoice in his great 
possession. He hoped to survive his power and 
retain its benefits, and set himself to multiply 
his substance. He could buy many slaves, and 
give Selim freedom and riches ; but his very 
life and secret were now dependent upon the 
Bedouin. So he gave him a princely palace, 
with attendants who might minister to his 
wants ; but the Arab himself was almost ever 
in painful, anxious duty around his master. 

Selim had purchased for his master a palace 
exceeding the caliph’s in richness and splendor. 
It was paved, and ceiled, and curtained with 
gold, that his steps might be most free ; and there; 


no 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


with restless feet, he dragged his heavy mantle, 
as a prisoner might drag his weary chain. There 
was for him no medicine in the bath, no rest on 
the divan. He could not lave his hand or head 
in the cool fountain, nor press the fragrant rose 
or lily to his lips. 

With muffled steps he hardly ventured into 
the palace of his slave, whence the loathed 
metal was carefully banished. There soft, silken 
cushions and light muslin draperies met his 
sight and mocked his heart. He would return 
to his golden prison, and lie prone in wretched 
weariness for hours and hours, and then rise to 
take a weird pleasure in changing the soft roses, 
that Selim had brought for his vases, into hard, 
burnished garlands, when his touch passed over 
them, as a pianist now might touch the keys of 
the gamut. Only the one hand gives life to the 
inanimate, and the other brought death to the 
fresh and beautiful. Sometimes, in his golden 
chariot, he com'sed through the great city ; but 
he knew that all who saw him marked the hard, 
sallow, sunken, look, visible beneath the golden 
turban. 

His visits to the bazaar were, of course, aban- 
doned ; yet ere his health and spirits quite failed, 
there was much joy in the accumulation of such 
gi-eat possessions. But it was Selim’s eye that 
selected radiant gems, and gave the preference 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


Ill 


to regal damasks. Selim’s hand secured the 
beauties of the gardens, the rarities of the mar- 
ket. It was Selim’s touch that revelled in soft 
satins; it was Selim alone who found it a privi- 
lege to handle the gold. 

The little antelope and sportive ichneumon, 
whose gambols had served to amuse the slave 
and his master, were now forbidden to sport 
near Abdallah ; and he took no pleasure in the 
presence of any living thing. 

There was no need to brush away a fly, or 
shrink from the sting of a bee, for every insect 
fell from his skin a golden model. The flowers 
sometimes amused him, but to feel their soft pet- 
als was to destroy them and lose their fragrance. 

But most he sorrowed at the loss of old friend- 
ships ; for the merchants of Bagdad courted his 
presence no more than he obtruded upon them. 
There seemed a misgiving throughout the city 
that shamed and grieved him. The good Mos- 
lems said, “ Abdallah has become a great magi- 
cian, but the blessing of Allah is denied to all 
his glory.” 

There was one treasure debarred him, which 
he longed for all the more because beyond his 
power. So it was with a heart as heavy as his 
robe that he listened to Selim’s words one day — 
“ There is a slave merchant, from the mountains 
ol Circassia, who is possessor of a girl, beautiful 


112 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


as the queen of the houris: would my master 
look upon her marvellous beauty?^’ “Nay, 
send him hence,” was the stern reply. But the 
merchant would not depart, and insisted that 
Abdallah should look upon the maid. She was 
brought into bis presence, and her veil lifted be- 
fore his eyes. O, how his heart ached as he saw 
the fair hand he might never touch, the light 
form he might never clasp! Then came the 
thought of a succeeding year, could he but live 
through this ; and at all events he would main- 
tain his splendor. No one else should possess 
the most beautiful maiden who had ever entered 
the gates of Bagdad. 

So he said calmly, “ She is good ; Selim will 
repay thee ; ” and then commanded the trio from 
his presence. The merchant departed with his 
reward in golden shekels, and the girl was 
Abdallah’s. Never did chief eunuch or grand 
chamberlain strive more heartily to please his 
sovereign than did Selim to make happy the 
lovely Zima. Her palace, within its jasper gates. 

“ Was all of alabaster white, 

And of the red coralle ; ” 

for the one symbolized her purity, the other her 
blushing modesty. Roseate taffetas, embroi- 
dered with silver nightingales, hung around he! 
couch ; and sculptured Peris sang in the per- 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


1J3 


^uined waters of many fountains. But Zima 
shed a tear for every drop that fell from the Peri’s 
wings. Yes, every day she wept, and every 
day she dried her tears, and recalled her smiles 
when she was sent for to go into the golden halls 
of Abdallah. She sang to him, she danced before 
him, she chanted to him the mountain stories of 
her land, she lavished smiles upon him bright as 
the new light of the orient, and every day she 
was sent back to her couch without an embrace 
or kind caress. “ I am loathsome to him,” said 
she, passionately, to Selim ; ‘‘ he will not even 
touch me. I have come from home and friends 
to him, and he will never love me.” 

“ He does not hate thee,” said Selim, warmly ; 
“ but woe if he should ever love thee.” 

One day Zima threw herself at Abdallah’s 
feet, and when she saw the horror with which he 
started back, she begged that he would send her 
home to her native land, or take her to the great 
bazaar that she might be sold to some one, may 
be less wealthy than himself, but with a heart to 
love and cherish her. Abdallah was moved by 
her tears, and said, “ Zima, reach me your 
hand ! ” She stretched to him an arm soft and 
white as a snow wreath. He clasped the small 
wrist between his thumb and finger ; and when 
he had withdrawn his grasp, she saw the circlet 
like a golden bracelet on her arm. “ You see,’’ 


L14 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


said he, “ that, if I should take you to my arms, 
it would be as a ruined if not a lifeless creature. 
Tempt me no more, for there are moments when 
the demon within would gladly sacrifice you 
thus. Away ! away I ” 

Zima sank upon the floor with her shining 
locks hardly brighter than its polish, for she was 
overcome with fear, horror, gratitude, and won- 
der. “ My poor dear master ! ” she exclaimed : 
and Selim groaned a prayer. Then the Arab 
raised her to lead her away ; but Abdallah 
stopped him, thus: — 

“ Selim, you have been to me as a son or a 
brother, and Zima is mine. I have a right to 
her as if she were my child. I can live but little 
longer. Take her now, that she may be your 
wife.” But Zima said, “ Not yet ; for I must 
first find the cure for your sorrows.” 

So Selim led her away to the coral palace, 
with its alabaster walls ; and all night long she 
lay awake thinking of Abdallah. But when the 
sun arose, throwing its first rays among the shad- 
ows that slept like mountain masses behind the 
curtains, the sight recalled an old vision and 
legend of her youth, and she smiled with all her 
former radiance. She sent messengers for Selim, 
and when he was come, she said, “ There is liv- 
ing, away in the mountains of Armenia, a holy 
monk, who believes in a prophet greater than 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


115 


Mohammed He has power against all demons 
and all diseases. Go to him for the talisman 
that alone can preserve Abdallah.” 

“ But who,” responded Selim, “ will save his 
life till I return ? ” 

“ Let him be my care,” answered Zima. “ I 
will do all that you can do. 1 will strive to 
do more.” 

“ What, you ? alone too ! so young, so tender, 
and no one else must know the mystery of the 
golden touch.” 

“ Fear not for me ! ” said Zima. “ I am strong 
and hopeful. But take for yourself gold for all 
necessities, and the swiftest steed of your country. 
And then,” she concluded, with a sad smile, 
“ spare neither the horse nor his rider! ” 

While Selim was gone for the swiftest horse 
in Bagdad, Zima walked on into the gardens, 
where she found a stalk with fair apples in a 
cluster, and a ringed worm gnawing on a leaf. 
She plucked the fruit, and passed on to the roses, 
where she gathered the most beautiful flower 
with its hundred leaves, fresh and strong, folded 
like a dahlia ; and a bee was filling its honey- 
cups from a newly-opened bud. Then she 
sought admission to Abdallah's presence, and 
pointing with a smile to the life-encircling brace- 
let on her arm, she begged that she might witness 
his power on her fresh gatherings. Abdallah 


116 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


took the flower from her hand, and when he 
returned it, bee, bud, and blossom were of solid 
gold. Likewise he changed the fair fruit, with 
the leaf and worm, and gave them back to Zima. 
When she parted from Selim, she gave these to 
him, as memorials for her own home, which 
were to convince her parents of her wealth and 
happiness, ^elim promised to leave them there, 
as he should stop to learn of the monk’s cavern. 
Then she returned to Abdallah, and told him 
that Selim had gone to a magician greater than 
the demon, who could break the spell of the gold- 
en touch ; and she would nurse him during the 
days or weeks that the Arab might be gone. 
But Abdallah groaned and said, “ I shall never 
see my gentle Selim more ! ” 

It was a wearisome task that Zima had under- 
taken — to feed him as you would give nauseous 
medicine to a sick child; to cool those limbs 
with endless fanning, which water might never 
touch ; to soothe those nerves so sore and feeble ; 
to support the mind, so dark and gloomy ; to 
cheer the heart, so faint and wretched. Some- 
times she feared the old man would fall upon 
her neck and die ; and sometimes that Selim 
might never return in safety. But Selim did 
come ; and though the monk would not return 
with him, and had expressed little sympathy for 
Abdallah, saying, “ He who had coveted the 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


117 


riches of Solomon should experience the tendei 
mercies of the worst genii of Solomon ! ” yet in 
answer to Selim’s prayers he had given him a 
flask of holy water. This was for relief, not for 
cure. Zima took the flask, and with it she 
sprinkled the couch of Abdallah. Again it 
became a soft bed, atid he lay down and slum- 
bered. She moistened with it his parched lips, 
and bathed his hands and face. O, how rejoiced 
was he to feel so like his former self! With 
renewed strength he swept his long mantle 
across the golden floors, and wooed the breezes 
to his brow. He could have embraced Selim, 
he could have blessed Zima, but that the curse 
of the golden tou ch was still upon him. But he 
mounted again his chariot, and coursed through 
the city, showering gold upon the poor, who 
craved his charity, and seeking to relieve the 
sick and destitute. But the precious bottle 
wasted fast ; and again Selim mounted his swift 
courser for a journey to the monk of the moun- 
tain. Again, after many earnest petitions, his 
boon was granted, and he returned to relieve the 
labors of Zima, and to cheer her with messages 
from her home, where the wealth that Abdallah 
had given them for her had made them all so 
thankful and so happy. And thus, together, they 
preserved the merchant’s life till the year was 
past. Then, on the next day, Abdallah called 


118 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


for the old casket, containing his former wealtii, 
and turning the key, he invoked the demon. 
Again the vision grinned before him, with his 
helmet of shapeless ore, and the golden glow 
flaming through the rents of earthen crust that 
veiled him ; and he said, “ I have come, Abdal- 
lah, as I promised, to renew the golden touch ! ” 

“Avaunt, fiend!” cried Abdallah. “You 
promised to recall it if I wished ! ” 

“ Great is gold ! ” said the imp, mockingly. 

“ God alone is great ! ” responded Abdallah ; 
and as he said this the fiend paled and quivered. 

“ Old man,” said he, angrily, “ you do not then 
keep the profits of your last year’s bargain. All 
that you have gained from me returns to me.” 

“ Take all then,” said Abdallah, firmly, — 
“ this casket, if you wish. I will have no more 
of you.” 

“ AU is mine,” said the fiend, musingly — “ all 
but that which was given away. That has done 
its work of blessing, and cannot be recalled.” 

Then there arose around Abdallah the cry of 
“ Fire ! fire ! ” and in the smothering smoke and 
flames the demon disappeared. Abdallah leaped 
through the window, and saw the light tongues 
of flame lapping the curtains of Zima’s palace. 
But the slave herself and Selim were at his feet. 
“ I have saved your life, and your reputation too, 
my master,” said the Bedouin. “ When I saw the 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


119 


change commence, I knew the result of your 
conference with the demon, and lighted myself 
the flame that should consume the vestiges of 
his necromancy. All others have fled, but Zima 
is with me, here.” And, through the smoulder- 
ing embers, Abdallah saw too that his old casket 
lay unharmed. His former gains, that once had 
looked so great, and then so paltry in his sight, 
were now to provide for these his children, and 
for his old age. “ Take the casket,” said he to 
Selim, “ and do with me as you will.” 

There was little sympathy expressed for Ab- 
dallah’s loss, for all supposed it could easily be 
repaired. And Selim’s heart sickened at the 
great city, with its wealth of gold and its callous 
inhabitants. So he took the casket, and bought 
camels and horses for his master’s journey to the 
desert, a retinue befitting his late state rather 
than his present means. And with the. morning 
sun they turned their backs upon Bagdad, and 
their faces towards Sahara. They travelled long 
and far ; and, during the night encampments, he 
told Zima of the free life of the wandering tribes 
of Arabia ; of their scorn of gold, and love for the 
lights of heaven ; of the lavender and rosemary, 
that grew up by the springs in the oases ; of the 
milk-white steeds, who stood in the door of 
his father’s tent, and ate from the hands of his 
little sisters ; of the patient camels, who nibbled 


120 


THE GOLDEN DEMON. 


thistles along the parched wayside ; and of the 
great tribe, who would welcome her as the bride 
of its young sheik. 

And Abdallah, too, rejoiced, like the two 
young pilgrims before him, in the prospect of a 
new life, where poverty with freedom would be 
their portion. 

So Selim brought Zima to his mother’s tent, 
and she became his wife. Children were born 
to them ; sons grave and beautiful as Moham- 
med, and daughters wise and gentle as Zenobia. 
Abdallah lived to bless and name their babes ; 
and then he died, and was buried by a fountain 
in the desert, where the palm trees waved and 
the fresh grass clustered. 

They bore him to his grave beneath a shadowy 
nail of ostrich plumes, and pillowed his head on 
his old casket. The legend says it was full 
when they discarded it, as on the day Abdallah 
first invoked the demon; but they feared its 
influence, and despised its treasure. So they 
buried it, saying, “ Gold is mighty, but God 
alone is great ! ” 


“ A second edition of King Midas,” said Ben ; 
“ and after Mr. Hawthorne has dressed him over 
so genteelly.” 


EVENING FIFTH. 


121 


Fred said his cousin was but lately accusing 
him of neglect of classic lore, and this charge he 
thought inconsistent with that. But, to tell the 
truth, he was more indebted to Ben himself than 
to any other one. It was a certain speech of his 
that had started the train, which he had only to 
follow on, and the story was the result. He 
had not thought of King Midas ; indeed, he had 
never reached his kingdom in his slight classic 
researches ; nor known of him, only as all must 
know, from the allusions to him in general lit- 
erature. He was still more innocent respecting 
IVIr. Hawthorne, whose story he did not know of 
till Ellen brought the book to him when he was 
almost done; for she had seen, througri a sly 
peep over his chair back, that his story had pre- 
cisely the same title, forestalled by the Lenox 
mythist. Out of deference to him, therefore, he 
had changed his head^ and he did not know 
what more could be asked of him. 

They all acknowledged that Fred had made 
out a good defence. Ben had noticed the quo- 
tation from himself, but as he was not a mean 
fellow, he had refrained from any allusion to it, 
perfectly willing to resign any thing which, he 
said, “grew so much better in the hands of 
another.” 

Phil had not the least doubt but that some 
King Midas had reigned over a .scroll or two in 


122 


EVENINO FIFTH. 


the Alexandrian library. He was glad that he 
had found his way out ; and that, through Egypt 
and Greece, he had come into Massachusetts. 
He deserved to be universally popular ; and they 
would find no fault with his present representa- 
tive, Abdallah, merchant of Bagdad. 

There was no more said about the matter by 
the older folks ; but Ellen and Katie had got 
hold of a certain little “ Wonder Book,” and 
were making comparisons that pleased them- 
selves exceedingly. At Fred’s request, they de- 
livered the book to him; and, long after they 
had gone to their rooms, he sat perusing the 
story, which he had been accused of making the 
model of his own. 


CnEEing liitli. 

It was Eva’s turn to read a story. She was 
thought to have the most difficult taste, and the 
least ready fancy, of any one member of the 
party. So there was considerable anxiety felt 
to know — not how she would please them, but 
how she would be able to satisfy herself. 

Sophy had reported three different stories com- 
menced and cast aside ; one, “ The Mask and 
Mirror; ” another, “ The Mystic Island;” and a 
third, the best of all, “ The Purple Grotto.” 
There was poetry in it ; she had read a few lines 
in a mermaid’s song — 

“ And the oar to tlie shore, 

Shall be turned nevermore.” 

But Eva shook her head at her, and put an end 
to the quotation. Eva then said that the story 
was too extravagant, and she had not liked it. 
She did not know that she had done any better. 
Her present sketch had no claims to original- 
ity; it was but a new way of telling an old 
story. 

They had all received Fred’s effort so kindly 


13.3 


124 


EVENING SIXTH. 


that she hoped they would be quite as partial to 
her own. 

Ben thought, as her manuscript did not look 
at all bulky, they might perhaps be favored with 
the fragments of “ The Mask and Mirror,” and 
the other literary et ceteras ; but Eva said, if she 
fulfilled her task of finding them one story, they 
might be very grateful. 

“ Thankful for smallest favors ! ” said Ben, 
winking towards the thin-leaved, delicately 
traced manuscript of Eva, which looked, indeed, 
rather unpromising for aught but a brief enter- 
tainment. 

But Fred hinted that “ The Quadruple Pleas- 
ure ” would be forthcoming ; and with this 
expectation they settled themselves to listen to 
her story entitled 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

“ Mother of the Wise Word, and daughter of 
the Northern Star, come to my couch, and bend 
thy lips to mine ear! Take my babe to thy 
heart ; and tell me what pulses her soft touch 
stirs within thee. Her low murmurings shall 
weave a dream before thine eyes, and thou shalt 
tell me what thy gaze espies beyond the clouds 
of the Hidden Land.” 

Thus spake an Indian queen to the wise wo- 
man, who had long been a sojourner with her 
tribe ; and she laid her new-born child to the 
heart of the withered sibyl. 

“ Speak, mother ; thy words shall be my medi- 
cine. Let the Great Spirit whisper to me 
through the voice of the Driven Wind ! ” 

“ Daughter of many kings, and wife of the 
Mighty Arm, I see beyond me the shores of the 
Hidden Land ; and the spirits of the future are 
unveiled before mine eyes. I see, — but that 
which I look upon the Drooping Elm should 
never seek to know.” 

“ I must ! I must ! the coming time is dark 

127 


128 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


before thy gaze'] but I must know of that which 
is all unveiled to the Driven Wind ! ” 

“ The speech of the Driven Wind is never soft ; 
and her voice is hard, like that of an angry spirit. 
Do not force her to interpret her ravings.” 

“ The Drooping Elm has learned to bow to 
every blast. Though she would feign shadow 
this new bud with her swaying boughs, yet she 
will learn to yield it back to the Great Spirit, and 
mm*mur softly, like a ravished bird, her plaintive- 
ness to the summer air. The Driven Wind need 
not fear to search through all her branches.” 

“ I see,” replied the wise woman, hesitating. 
“ I see, also, that the Driven Wind is to take 
the new bud from the Drooping Elm, as the sun 
lifts the mist from the placid river. It shall be 
well. But tell me, O Driven Wind, of the land 
where the bud shall blossom; of the sea where 
the mist shall rest again in silver brightness. 

“ I see,” said the medicine woman, “ the ten- 
der bud grow strong and beautiful, beneath the 
shadow of the Drooping Elm. She openeth her 
leaves, and becometh a beauteous blossom ; her 
fragrance filleth her father’s lodge, and the dan- 
cing shadows are bright around her. The blos- 
som is borne on the monarch’s breast, and the 
Drooping Elm lifteth aside her branches, that aU 
may look to see the beauty beneath the shadow 
of them.” 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


129 


** Dotl . the bud remain ? Is it taken hence ? 
and where ? Do the young warriors seek it ? Is 
it borne away on the conqueror’s lance or spear? ” 

“ I see the warriors hasten to her father’s 
lodge. There are black shadows cast upon their 
brows by the flitting council fire. They turn 
away to the hunting grounds, and come back 
with furs of the panther and shaggy wolf. They 
lay their gifts at the door of the monarch’s lodge. 
They twine garlands of eagles’ claws around the 
Drooping Elm ; but they are dismissed without 
f he fragrant flower for which they came. One 
now returns with bloody hands, and lance tas- 
selled with the scalp lock of his rivals. The 
cougar is his manitou, and the glance of his eye 
is like a shooting star.” 

^ “ Do they not give to him the bud ? the 
blossom ? 

“ I see him depart with his own heart’s blood, 
like angry fires, mounting to his cheeks and 
Grow. The Drooping Elm still shadows the per- 
fumed bud. 

“ It is enough : the voice of the Driven Wind 
shall sink now within the branches of the Droop- 
ing Elm.” 

“ Nay, it is not enough ! Thou seest the bud 
as it blights beneath the Drooping Elm ! Thou 
seest it fall ! Is not the Elm strong ? Are iiot 
her branches firm and her leaves young? Do 


130 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


not fear to speak, as to a rotten weed. The 
voice of the Driven Wind is loud and fresh. I 
would hear it yet again. Where goeth the 
blossom ? ” 

“ I have seen many moons silvering the Droop- 
ing Elm since the bud grew from her heart. Is it 
not well ? My words are done.” 

“The Driven Wind pierceth even to the Spirit 
Land. Tell me yet more of that thou knowest ! ” 

“ I see a pale face coming from the Spirit Land. 
His brow is calm, like a snow-laden cloud ; and 
his eye like the deep-blue river. His foot is on 
the roaring seas; but mighty wings bear him 
forward to the shores of our hunting grounds. 
He layeth his wings upon the waters and cometh 
forth ; but not alone. There are many clouds 
upon that scene, or my eyes are growing dim ; 
but I see ” 

“ Tell me what does the pale spirit do ? ” 

“ I see the bud borne far from the Drooping 
Elm. Her boughs hang listless o’er her lodge, 
and the murmurs of her leaves have a new sor- 
row in them.” 

“ Tell me, O Driven Wind, cannot thine eye 
pierce onward to the bounds of the Spirit Land ? 
O, tell me where my bud shall blossom I ” 

“ The pale face lifteth again his mighty wings, 
and the bud is borne across the waters. They 
pass unfaltering through the clouds, and heed not 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


131 


the winds that would turn them from their 
course. They catch the roughest gales, and bind 
them to those wings : they fear not the monsters 
of the deep, nor do they pause at the mysterious 
lands which rise amid the waters. At length they 
reach the happy hunting grounds.” 

“ Tell me, O Driven Wind, what seest thou in 
that land ? ” 

“ It riseth from the golden waves like a lily 
from the scented lake. How shall I speak of 
all its glory ? Its rocky cliffs are white and strong, 
like the tooth necklace on the soft bosom of 
a bride. Its simplest lodges are more beautiful 
than the home of the Drooping Elm ; and some 
are smooth and hard, like the polished egg of 
the turtle. The light shines in them through an 
ice that never melts, and brightest flowers lie 
always before their steps. The birds sing ever 
in their trees ; the waters spring upward to 
cool their brows ; the streams sing pleasantly 
through their green banks ; and they lie down 
on couches that seem hollowed from sunset 
clouds.” 

“ But tell me of my bud. Is she there alone ? ” 

“ She is not alone. The pale spirits are about 
her, thick as the birds in a blooming wood. 
They clothe her like themselves, in skins softer 
than the hide of the tenderest fawn, that shine 
like the web spun at night in the dew-gemmed 


132 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


grass. They place upon her breast and in her 
hair the tiny icicles that are never cold ; and all 
about are shining, like herself, in many tinted 
lights, like a thick forest after a summer rain. 
Their seats are softer than the flowery moss ; ano 
they drink sweet, sparkling, but not humai. 
blood, from bowls like the light of the midda} 
sun, shining up from laughing waters.” 

“ Does she look happy ? ” 

“ There is a light upon her brow, such as 
I have never seen a maiden wear before.” 

“ Is the Drooping Elm in that happy land? ” 

“ Her bud is there before her. I see no fur- 
ther. It is enough — I will look no longer ! ” 
Such was the revelation to Drooping Elm, the 
graceful Indian queen, as she sought to divine 
the future of her babe. Thenceforward she 
called her child the Spirit Bud, though the king 
had named her Matoaka. 

She grew very beautiful, and was loved as 
few in any home can be. But as she became 
older, and the words of Driven Wind were whis- 
pered in her ear, she seemed very grave, as 
though the air from a glacier had rested on the 
flowers of her childhood. But with this gravity 
there was a sweetness like the south wind that 
melts through snow clouds : so while* her hand 
was in the tendrils of the Drooping Elm, and 
her feet trod lighLy over the floor of her father’s 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


133 


lodge, her eye was oft away over the waters, 
sti-aining its gaze to the Spirit Land. 

She wove the wampum belt for her father’s 
loins, and stitched the bright-stained quills 
through her mother’s robe ; but when her tasks 
were done, she played with the birds and flowers, 
and chanted to them her questions of the Spirit 
Land. And when the warriors came with their 
gifts of game and furs, with their scalp girdles 
from the wars, or their fierce trophies from the 
chase, her heart took no pleasure in them, for 
she saw in her dreams the pale face with the 
mighty wings, who should make her soon his 
bride. Drooping Elm said, “ It is but a little 
time thou wilt be here ; and I cannot spare thee 
from my side ! ” and the king was in no haste to 
betroth his favorite child. They let her roam 
among the hills, and trace the channels of the 
streams unchecked ; for they knew that in soli- 
tude her heart would best strengthen itself for its 
separation from them all, and prepare with deep 
communings for its entrance to the Spirit Land. 

One day Driven Wind came to Drooping 
Elm, and said, — 

“ Where is Spirit Bud ? for I fain would 
speak to her.” 

Drooping Elm gave her child to the wise 
woman, and said, “ Is her time near ? ” 

Driven Wind shook her head doubtfully ; but 


134 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


she took the girl away. They went afar, and 
climbed to a high hill, where the distant ocean 
broke in shining billows upon the landscape. 

“ Spirit Bud,” said she, “ I have dreamed 
again, but the voices in my sleep were as the 
speech of a stranger’s tongue. I heard it like 
the whisperings of a far-off echo ; and I knew 
only that the words were of the happy land 
and thee ! ” 

“ Is the pale face coming for me, O Driven 
Wind ? ” 

“ He cometh ! yes, he cometh ! We shall see 
the wavings of his mighty wings upon the farthest 
waters. But there is something very strange. 
Spirit Bud, you are to go to the happy land 
with the pale face ; but he will first lay back his 
wings upon the waters, and sojourn here a while 
with you. The Spirit Bud will still be near us 
and around us, but not wholly of us. Your 
father’s brow will grow dark, and his heart will 
light up with angry fires. The Drooping Elm 
will bend with fear, and her leaves will waste 
upon the ground. 

“ From the Spirit Bud must come a shield for 
the pale face’s safety ; and if harm come to him, 
the Great Spirit will send his vengeance across 
the waters, to overwhelm this land.” 

“ I will be faithfu to the pale face who shall 
come and claim me. But there is not yet a 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


135 


spiel upoi. the farthest waters. There is still 
much time for me to listen to thy words. Tell 
me, O Driven Wind, what else thou seest.” 

“ Spirit Bud, I see this land, when thou hast 
passed away, and when even the last footprints 
of thy race have faded from its surface.” 

“Doth it then become a silent land?” 

“ Not so ; but pale faces come thickly between 
the sea and sky, and the whole land is given to 
these mightier spirits. They build the beauteous 
lodges of their happy land where now our wig- 
wams stand ; and even the forests bow to the 
ground before them. Their wings are lifted up 
over all its streams and seas, and they ride 
across its prairies upon monsters, who breathe 
fire and smoke, as they glide with a serpent’s un- 
dulating swiftness around the hills and through 
the valleys. They weave a loose, bright netting 
in the air, on which the lightnings speed to bear 
their messengers ; and their fiery monsters fight 
the spray across the waters. They go up to- 
wards the sun and stars in giant bubbles, which 
you may scarce conceive, and gaze at the moon 
with an eye longer than their bodies.” 

“ But, O Driven Wind, where are we ? Where 
are the dark-browed children of our sires ? ” 

“ Hath not the Great Spirit many homes for 
his offspring? May they not be where the hunt- 
ing grounds are ever filled with game ? where the 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 




sun doth not scorch with heat in summer, and 
the wintry winds are never cold ? He has taken 
them to a better land than this ; and that it is 
even now prepared, doth not the hunter know, 
whose glance hath long rested on the purple 
shadows of the ‘Fountain Isle’? The Great 
Spirit is very good ; he hath guarded that home 
with serpents, like mighty rivers ; and their giant 
sentinels watch there with sleepless eye, like a 
mountain with the full moon shining on its 
highest peaks.” 

“ Driven Wind, thou who tellest so much of 
the future, surely thou canst say something of 
the past. What has been its voice to thee?” 

“ There was a time,” she replied, “ long ere I 
was the Driven Wind and the Great Sj)irit whis- 
pered in my dreams, when I was like a breeze 
asleep within a blossom, and when there was a 
present, that now is a dim past, like the song of a 
rill whose waters are dried up, whose echoes are 
on the winds of another year. I was the full 
stream whose voice is merry music. I was, in 
my mother’s lodge, like a bird upon a flowery 
bough. For me the young warriors pranced their 
steeds across the hunting grounds, and threw 
away their lives to the grisly bear or catamount. 
There was one who was called the ‘ Bloody 
Hand,’ in our tribe, for the game fell in his path 
if he but beckoned to them. He went to t*'? 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


137 


battle, that he might bring home scalps to deck 
a lodge for me, his bride. While he and his 
friends were gone, my father was conquered in 
the fight. I was taken prisoner, and my life 
spared because of my beauty. I saw my father, 
my mother, my young brothers burned in wither- 
ing flames, and I heard their shouts of defiance 
end in stifled moanings. Was not this enough 
to scorch the pure thoughts of my youth, and 
make me like a tree which the lightning has 
blackened? I was given to an aged chief, to 
be his slave. I toiled for him, and received* 
blows from his other wives. But I forgave him 
all his scornful words, for he was the /ather of 
my child. One night, as I lay upon the elk skin 
in my lodge, listening to the old songs in my 
head, and hearing, through my baby’s breath, 
the new song in my heart, I heard another music. 
There was a form between my eyes and the 
glare of coals upon the hearth. I took my child 
in my arms, and went out into the moonlight, 
with a beating at my heart which might have 
been loud enough to step the war dance by. I 
saw him, the Bloody Hand ! and, with a spring 
at my child, he crushed its little life from its 
bosom. T sank upon the ground, and thick dark- 
ness came upon me. When morning came, 1 
awoke, but he was gone.” 

The voice of the Driven Wind was silent, an ! 


138 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


Spirit Bud asked, “ Did you never see him 
more ? ” 

“ Never: 1 heard that he had escaped his cap- 
tors, that he was now the chief of our old tribe, 
and that another wife slept in his lodge. After 
that, I wandered far away to the sky of milder 
stars, and began to listen to the Great Spirit 
calling in my dreams.” 

“ O Driven Wind, it was not of this past, 
whose fiery scroll lies close against your living 
heart, that I questioned. It was that, so far 
back in the ages gone, as distant as the future 
when the pale face shall seem as the spirits re- 
turned of ^ our departed tribes.” 

“ When I was young, like you, sweet Spirit 
Bud, I too asked of the far-off past, and of its 
echoes and shadows. There was a time when 
all this land was free for the moose, bear, and 
buffalo to be the sovereigns of it. The red man 
was first remembered, afar in the home of shin- 
ing snows, where the giants of that time sought 
to make of him a slave forever. But the blood 
and sinews, which toil for another, were never 
in his frame. So he was scourged, and pierced, 
and tortured with ice and fire. When the cold 
winds made a strong floor of the deep waters, 
the red man fled across it, to the green plains 
and pale-blue waters. He came to a better 
country, where the forests were thick, and filled 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


139 


with game The giants followed ihem with 
heavy tread. Their voices were like many thun 
ders, and their glances like the lightning’s flash. 
But the Great Spirit stopped them in their way. 
He fastened their huge feet into the earth, and 
commanded the winds to shroud them in sands. 
Their awful forms are still there. Their shaggy 
hides are now a tangled forest. Their skulls 
are as strong cliffs. Their white scalps shine in 
never-thawing ice. Their grass-grown sides are 
filled with venomous beasts. The rumblings of 
their bowels are heard no more. Their flaming 
tongues have long dropped off; their tears are 
ever-flowing rivers ; and their limbs are swa 
lowed in the bowels of the earth. They remain 
there forever!” 

“ O Driven Wind, didst thou ever see them ? ” 

“ Yea, long since, in my youth. There is one 
whose face, now turned to stone, stands always 
out against the sky, showing how he would have 
turned back ; whose giant origin is not concealed. 
Even in years to come, the pale face will see him 
as the far-riding hunter sees him now, and will 
still call him the ‘ Old Man of the Mountain.’ 
He is a monument placed by the Great Spirit, 
who overcometh the enemies of his children.” 

“ The red men feared the giants then no more.” 

“ Nay, they jeered and scorned them ; and, 
In the forests, with the game, or by the sea 


140 


THE SPIRIT BUD. 


shore, they lived the life of free and favored 
children.” 

“O Driven Wind, look! it is even as thou 
hast said! the mighty wings are lifted on the 
line between the sea and sky;” and Spirit 
Bud dropped her face into her trembling 
hands. 

“ The Spirit Bud has a keener eye than 
mine, so old and dim ; but I do not doubt its 
seeing.” 

So theie they watched till the white wings 
grew larger, and came nearer, and then they 
descended the height, to meet the pale face at 
the shore ; but the step and look of Spirit Bud 
were like those of a nun who goeth forth to her 
Christ espousal. 

Little need we tell here of the welcome they 
gave the pale face, nor of her father’s greeting. 
Powhatan looked upon the white men with a 
mixture of awe and fear, which was not fully 
understood ; and Matoaka, or Pocahontas, was 
the only one whose heart leaped up to theirs in 
sympathy. She was saving a long-loved idol 
when she preserved the life of Smith, and that 
she had so much influence was owing to their 
remembrance of the old prophecy ; and on wed- 
ding John Rolfe, she but gave herself to one 
who had long possessed her hoping heart. She 
did not forget the words of Driven Wind, as 


EVENING SIXTH. 


141 


she gazed around on all the pomp of England’s 
court ; and she felt that it was indeed the happy 
land. But she learned of them to look with 
other gaze upon the spirit world, to see there the 
Father of all, both red and white; and, in the 
faith of a glorious immortality, the vision of a 
heaven where it should bloom forevermore, she 
folded in death the Spirit Bud. 


“Pocahontas! Pocahontas!” they all ex- 
claimed. The old story over again, but pretty 
well told, notwithstanding. 

Ben thought that the mermaids had better be 
brought forward, as possibly doing more credit 
to her originality ; but Eva would not submit 
them to the test. 

Fred, Sophy, and Katie were comparing notes 
for some minutes, to know which had discovered 
Pocahontas first. Sophy said she knew all as 
soon as a “ pale face ” was mentioned. Fred 
was sure of the whole when he had fairly recog- 
nized England ; Katie when Powhatan was 
called up ; and Ellen was not sure until Captain 
Smith and John Rolfe were brought before 
them ; but their mother had known all the way 
from “ Matoaka.” 

The little girls asked if Pocahontas had really 


142 


EVENING SIXTH. 


any other name than this ; and Eva said there 
were at least two more. Pocahontas seemed to 
be her royal name, by which she was known 
to the English ; Matoaka her home, or purely 
Indian name ; and Rebecca was the name by 
which she was baptized into the Christian 
church. What was the meaning of her Indian 
names Eva could not tell. 

But now came the quadruple pleasure, as Ben 
had called it, when the Enchanted Horse, with 
other drawings, was to be brought forward. 
Yes, they all liked Mynhe.er ; he looked so sad, 
and meek, and so knowing withal. 

Old Abdallah and Zima were but sketched, 
with Selim in the background; but they were 
well done, so far. The children had hoped the 
“ demon ” would be portrayed ; but •Zima was 
certainly much the more beautiful there, as she 
cried out, “ My poor dear master.” 

Aunt Mary’s “ Clerk of the Weather” satisfied 
all parties ; the little ones could not enough ad- 
mire him. Ben acknowledged that his concep- 
tion had been justly dealt by, so far as it was 
possible for mortal crayons to embody him ; the 
only fault had been his own, in describing him 
beyond the power of fingers to delineate. And 
110 one contradicted the conceited fellow. 

Eva, as usual, had been fastidious, and busy 
also with her story. Her fairies were not finished 


EVENING SIXTH. 


143 


to her mind. She had two slight sketches, one 
of Rose leaning from her blossoms, with Moss 
advancing, enveloped in his lichen cap and 
cloak ; but this did not suit, and another fancy 
was tried ; where Rose, in propria persona^ is 
receiving the encirling embrace of her new com- 
panion. This, when finished, they all thought, 
would be as pretty as it could be ; and “ when 
our stories are printed,” said Ellen, “we will 
have these pictures in the book.” Lopez and 
the fountain were faintly traced by Lottie, with 
the swans on the lake and the lilies on their 
stems. “ Yes, there were all the lilies,” — Katie 
said she could see them, — “the arum and all 
the rest.” 

The pictures afibrded them so much amuse- 
ment, that it was even later than usual before 
they were ready to retire, though Eva’s story 
had not detained them long. 

There were a few questions to be answered 
about the “Old Man of the Mountain ;” who, 
it was averred, was still in existence, and as 
large as ever. 

Phil had seen him in his pedestrian tour to 
the Franconia Notch, and said he might be 
easily taken for a giant turned into stone, and 
mossed over with shrubs and forests. 

Katie and Ellen said they should !#iow enjoy, 
more than ever, their promised visit to the White 


144 


EVENING SIXTH 


Mountains, for they should be so “ glad to see 

this now harmless company of giants ” 

“ Put their nightcaps on,” added their motl. er 
and they needed no further hint to leave the 
room. 


fuelling Iftitntij. 


“ Now commences the second season , said 
Ben, “ or Part Second of our book. The juve- 
niles have each accomplished their appointed 
task, and it cannot be that their seniors will fail. 
Aunt Mary, you are the youngest of the other 
party, the nearest, of course, to ours, and will 
therefore come next in order.’’ 

“ I and my husband are one,” replied aunt 
Mary. “ He has written a story ; and I have 
been so busy sketching the accompanying draw- 
ing, that I have had no time to write. I will 
not be delinquent to-morrow evening.” 

“ Pray, uncle Charles, will you oblige us ? ” 
said Phil, and Eva, and all the rest. 

Uncle Charles looked as though such matters 
were rather below his dignity ; but his good na- 
ture was not quite obscured in his professional 
cares, and he took a package from his pocket, 
tied with red tape, and looking marvellously, 
Ben thought, like some communication for the 
“ Medical Journal.” 

“ A very interesting case of paralysis,” said 

145 


146 


EVENING SEVENTH. 


he ; “ or is it a report of some congestion of the 
brain ? ” 

“ It was suggested by an affection of the heart 
replied their uncle, good naturedly, as he began 
to read of Hans thr Poctor, or 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


Hans was a doctor in prospective only, but 
«till studying and theorizing for lack of the prac- 
tice people do not seem disposed to give to those 
who most need it — the young and penniless. 
Experience, that old fellow, with white hair and 
expanded brow, comes through so many sloughs 
and quagmires to his favorites, that people 
have learned to trust his seams, and scars, and 
wrinkles — to look for the best diplomas among 
the stains and patches of his garments ; and they 
resign few valuables, little of that greatest treas- 
ure, life or health, to the smooth cheek and 
unsoiled garment. So Hans might still as well 
have called himself an apothecary’s clerk, for that 
was the position his good community seemed to 
have assigned him. 

Hans, moreover, was called a lazy student: 
he was seen sporting in the forests, and fishing 
by the rivers, dissecting butterflies, and analyz- 
ing crickets, when he might better, they thought, 
have been feasting his brains through mental 
digestion, with the marrow of old ^sculapius, 
of the mighty doctors, who had filled vast tomes 
now in his master’s library. But why should 

149 


150 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


Hans lumber his head with many theories, and 
the thousand vagaries which — who can decide, 
where doctors disagreed ? Why should he study 
who already knew so much, that would be in time 
forgotten for want of the best reminders ? Why 
not collect insect mummies, as the patients cured, 
who stand monuments of a physician’s lore and 
skill, would not be at all displaced ? Why should 
he blind his eyes over the midnight lamp, who 
would now do just as well to tend the shop and 
grind the mortars, if he had never studied half 
so much ? Just as well, and better ; for had it not 
been for the fishes, and butterflies, and pheasants, 
who were Hans’s new studies, he would have 
been all the more discontented at the thought of 
talents wasted, learning underrated. 

He who knew as well how to wind up a skele- 
ton, and take apart a manikin, as to behead a 
wasp, or dismember a grasshopper, felt that the 
bodies of men were transparent to his gaze, and 
their diseases tangible to his touch. He would 
have amputated an arm as he would strip a beetle 
of its wing, or have bored a hole through a 
crushed breast bone as he would have taken a 
cork from a sealed bottle. 

But people trusted their limbs and lives only 
to the gray-haired Eckhardt ; and Hans might 
roam the woods, or splash the waters, as the 
humor suited him. 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


151 


Hans came to his shop one night quitf stiff 
and weary. A cold rain had met him in the 
torest ; so he kindled a fire in his little furnace, 
and then lay back upon the lounge, to dry his 
clothes and rest his limbs. He lay there a long 
time ; but it seemed that every joint grew stifFer 
as the hours slipped by ; he could not move, and 
though his head ached from weariness, he could 
not sleep. The little clock struck twelve, and 
Hans had not lowered an eyelid. 

“ Rather a comfortless place ! ” thought he, “ to 
spend the night ; ” and he wished he had gone 
at first to his lodgings, all dripping as he was. 
Che muddy shoes and soaking blouse might 
lave provoked a landlady’s frowns, or a servant’s 
pouts ; but these would have been agreeable ofF- 
sets to neuralgia in the head, or rheumatism in 
the bones. He was too stiff to shiver, and too 
cold to sleep, and the furnace now had ceased 
to temper the air, or add to his comfort. 

But by and by the young man became con- 
scious of manoeuvres about him that quite put 
to flight all thoughts of furnace, rheumatism, 
neuralgia, or self-observance, in any way. There 
was a clatter when the still, small hours came 
on, as if each vial were a vital; as if each 
medicine within had in truth become a living 
remedy. 

Hans turned his eyeballs higher, towards the 


152 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


shelves, where powders, pills, and many-colored 
solutions stood, row over row, in fearful variety, 
with their strange names in gilded letters, but 
a dead language, labelled on their fronts ; and 
his hair would have risen on end, if it had not 
previously been frozen down, at the thought of 
all these divers powers endowed with vitality, 
and allowed to wreak their humors upon him. 
There was not a friendly aspect in a single coun- 
tenance, with all its transparent revelations ; and 
Hans felt the new coldness of fear in his chilled 
members, as memories of hard thoughts, harsh 
words, and stupid witticisms came over him ; 
thoughts of mocking laughs, as he had rolled the 
pills, and sly sarcasms, as he had mixed the 
powders. Were they coming out to be revenged 
upon him ? Clatter, clatter, clatter ! and the cov- 
ers were lifted simultaneously, while an imp for 
every vial came out from its imprisonment. Not 
in uniform, however, did they appear, nor was their 
advent at the same moment. Some leaped from 
the pills like snap bugs, as the covers rose ; some 
came slowly, writhing from the powdery mass, 
like worms from stiff soils ; some floated upward 
from the tinctures and liquors, like a light boat 
from overwhelming waves. Some curved grace- 
fully about, while others skipped and jerked with 
horrible contortions. Some had faces expres- 
sive of terrible power and poisonous malice 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


153 


some were bitter and sour in every look, while 
others were quite torpid and inane, save when 
they mingled with others of equal stupidity, in 
their several individualities. Some were strong- 
ly odorous of distant lands, and others had a 
sepulchral smell from the bowels of the earth. 
Some possessed a slight but pleasing perfume, 
while others neutralized that with noisome 
smokes, that, to Hans, appeared to have been 
derivable only from the infernal regions them- 
selves. Some were in gay draperies, while 
others wore the dingy hues of old ores, and 
ochres, or the smutty oxides of the mine. 

The green Cantharides came buzzing and 
biting about him, so that he -was almost de- 
mented with their noise ; but Hans knew them 
all as they capered through the room ; Arsenic, 
Rhubarb, Calomel, Tartar, Quinine, Ipecacuanha, 
and the rest ; indeed, each preserved, through his 
transformation, a likeness to the ore, or plant, or 
tree, or animal, from which his existence had 
been derived. And they knew him ! That was 
evident enough, for one snapped pills at him as 
boys shoot peas ; others shook burning solvents 
over him in slow drops, as they counted the 
falling torments. Some smothered him with 
puffs of light pow^der, and others spouted water 
from their mouths towards him as he would 
press a syringe. Some brought plasters for his 


154 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


mouth, and plugs for his ears and nostrils ; some 
spread burning blisters over his skin ; some 
stabbed his veins, while others shaved him bald, 
and racked his joints or twisted his bowels. 
And there he must remain, so helpless and 
passive, while the imps practised their diablerie 
with impunity. If they would only shut his 
eyes, and numb his senses, there would be some 
alleviation ; but with those loathsome forms 
before his sight, and their wretched jargon 
booming, racketing through his brain, he only 
wished they would kill him outright, and have it 
over. Even his favorite, little Belladonna, had 
rudely joined their pranks, while stupid Lauda- 
num maliciously kept away. 

Then the old books unclosed their long-used 
visors, and looked out with staring E’s and O’s 
upon the mischief; and every volume had deris- 
ion broadly imprinted on the face of it. “ Et 
tu. Brute I ” thought Hans. “ And thou, brute ! ” 
he repeated angrily, as every leaf rustled with 
pleasure, and each dog’s ear was pricked up with 
unwonted animation. The old black text seemed 
ominous with cabalistic warnings; and as the 
echoes of a distant cloister bell came in through 
the night stillness, the mortars seemed stimulated 
to a part in the ordeal. The pestles rose and fell, 
as he had often handled them ; and the little one 
cried out with metallic shrillness, through its 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


155 


successive blows, “ Kill him quick ! kill him 
quick ! ” while the great stone pounder groaned 
lazily, “ Linger him long! linger him long! ’’ 

“ Yes, they will kill me,” thought Hans, with- 
in his heart; “ but why not obey that dear little 
brass pestle, and put me instantaneously out of 
misery, instead of paying such deference to that 
flinty-hearted monster, who derives such pleasure 
from my torments ? Yes, kill him quick! kill 
him quick ! but do not linger him long ! ” 

Hans did not know there could be other suffer- 
ings than he now experienced ; but he was to be 
taught the depths of misery. 

He saw them bring in, through door or win- 
dow, he never knew how, a lovely babe. It 
was the last of many infants who had all besides 
it been taken from his brother. He saw them 
drug and torture it, till the strength was gone, 
and all its misery at an end. A fair young girl, 
the last and loveliest of their own loved band at 
home, was dragged before him. He saw the 
soft cheek burn with fever,^and the slight limbs 
writhe with pain ; he looked upon her gaping 
mouth and parched tongue; he heard her screech 
and plead for cooling water, yet they gave only 
tlieir vile bitters for drink. 

They brought his grandparents there ; the 
only ones now, for other two were dead ; and he 
saw them lift the drapery to jeer and shout over 


156 


THE VIAL IMPS 


the prints her body bore of blisters, wounds, and 
bleedings, while he was swollen with humors, 
and cracked with pain. Those aged on6s, so 
sainted in his heart, he saw them tortured, as 
he and the others had been, only with a kinder 
cruelty ; for all their misery was ended with 
death. “ O, when,” thought Hans, “ may all 
this diablerie cease ? 

And, as Hans asked this, there arose from the 
clear globe upon the table, where golden fishes 
once had sported in pure waters — from this ele- 
ment arose a fair spirit, robed with a thin, silvery 
sheen, like that the faint moon wears when she 
climbs the sky in open day. The silver spirit 
passed her hand over the limbs and brow of the 
poor fellow, and said to him, “ Follow me.” 

Hans was too much rejoiced to feel the com- 
mand of his limbs, and to leave the Vial Imps, 
to ask any questions as to the proposed excur- 
sion, and he followed his shining guide through 
the darkness. 

Night was still over the town and brooding 
in the forests, but Hans saw through many win- 
dows, as though they all had been uncurtained 
to his gaze, the couches of the sick, the watches 
of the dying. 

In one room, a mother hung alone over her 
sick child, while around her weary laborers 
slept. In another, a solitary invaUd lighted 


THE VIAL JVIPS. 


157 


with tremulous hands her own small taper, and 
drank placidly the night draught beside her. In 
another, a father paced with bare feet his cham- 
ber floor with a screaming boy clinging to his 
frame, and all were awakened by his screeches. 
In yet another, a husband hung despairingly 
over a fainting wife, nor could he leave her for 
a moment to move aside for help. 

“ When will these piiseries cease ? ” asked 
Hans, again. The silver spirit beckoned him 
on, and tliey passed through the town to the 
forest, and journeyed through the morning twi- 
light, oyer many miles, till they came to the 
mountain region. Hans clambered through the 
deep defiles, and strode on through the green 
passes, behind his leader, until they came to a 
crystal palace, all glittering upon the heights 
there in the morning sun. High, glassy pillars, 
which, in their ductile state, had been grooved, 
t\\dsted, or braided, supported the broad shining 
roof ; and, because there were no trees around, 
the waters had been guided from numerous fall- 
ing torrents, cascades, and cataracts, to foun- 
tains that played loftily in their strong, exquisite 
beauty. There was a tree, and here a shower 
of diamonds ; anon a tulip gushed upward, and 
then a broad fan spread coolness ; and thus the 
pure waters played in rich abundance, in grace- 
ful variety. 


158 


THE VIAL IMPS 


Through the cold avenues, over the marble 
pavements, Hans wandered with the spirit ; and 
then, over a waterfall, and under the arch of 
a mammoth fountain, they passed within the 
com’ts of the palace. Crystal basins held waters, 
through which the mimic fountains played ; and 
silver spirits were sporting in the morning bright- 
ness, with myriad glancing rainbows, as chil- 
dren play the graces. 

Leaving all these behind, Hans passed to the 
great hall, or throne room, of the palace. Within 
the radiant circle sat the queen of all this mag- 
nificence, in the quiet simplicity of true greatness. 
Her robes, of changing green and blue, shone 
through the misty tissue that veiled her. Daisies 
and clover blooms were studded thick upon her 
trail ; the thistle down embroidered her cobweb 
vest, and apple blossoms mingled in her hair. 
The silken tassels of the maize depended from 
her girdle, and a garland of buttercups threw a 
golden glory over her white neck. The heart’s 
ease nestled in her bosom, the perfume of violets 
was in her breath, the blue of the hyacinth was 
in her eyes, and her smile was like the opening 
of a fresh flower. She sat upon a hillock of new 
heather, and by her side was a crystal vase of 
ripenea fruits. The brown nuts from the forest 
formed her rosary, and a little amulet, with 
which she played, was sculptured from some 
hard esculent. 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


159 


She took no notice of Hans ; but some 
movement of his silver spirit was assented to, 
and they passed through the high, cold halls to 
the wards of this great palace, this wondrous 
hospital. 

They came to a mild, summer-like room, 
through which the sun was shining warmly, as 
if each window were a burning glass to concen- 
trate its power. Hot baths, and those of tepid 
warmth, were here awaiting the invalid, while 
the white draperies and curling mists of incense 
made even sickness seem attractive. Here were 
brought many of the new comers, and Hans 
rejoiced with them as the medicated baths pene- 
trated the citadels of their diseases. 

From these rooms they entered those of clear, 
cold baths, where swathing, binding, washing, 
rubbing, dashing, ducking, spouting, laving, and 
showering, were employed in all their varieties. 
Hans loved to mark the rosy glow that came 
with exercise and water, and to see the bright 
sparkle of the eye, reflected as it were from 
the glowing element. Action, motion, the very 
music of convalescence, were in the atmosphere 
about him, and a bird-like fluttering was in the 
limbs of the feeblest there. 

Again Hans came, with a shiver, to the great 
halls of excavated ice, where snow drifts were 
the baths, and frozen spray the showers. Her*^ 


160 


THE VIAL IMPS. 


strong men were wrestling with their ailments, 
till sweaty brows and burning cheeks proclaimed 
their victory. 

The promenade was now over, and as Hans 
entered the farther court the silver spirit bowed 
and left him. He turned aside with the dis- 
charged patients, who had bent their faces 
towards the valleys. As Hans joined the buoyant 
crowd, what was his transport to see the baby 
child, the darling sister, the old grandparents there, 
that he had thought were tortured to death the 
night before — there, and all radiant with health, 
and exuberant with happiness! He embraced 
them with tears of joy, and blessed the god- 
dess of the mountain, who was thus sending 
with them new life, like the streamlet’s flow 
down into the low valleys. But as he danced 
along, an awkward step brought him to the 
ground, and his fall awoke him. 

It was all a dream ! born, so Hans told me, 
of a bad cold and hard bed ; and he knew well 
what part of it, if not all, dated from the sun- 
shine that had peeped through his window. So 
he was not surprised to find his vial safe and 
covered, nor his mortars standing stiU. 

But it produced a great impression on him, or 
rather the success of the experiment he tried to 
drive away the rheumatic fever that followed 
this adventure ; and he became one of the sue* 


EVENING SEVENTH. 


161 


cessful hydropathists of the day. It is now no 
misnomer to call him Hans the Doctor. 


“ And do you really intend, Charles,’’ asked 
their father, “ to convey the idea that you prefer 
hydropathy to any other medical regimen ? ” 

“ Of course not^ or I would get up my own 
‘Water Cure Establishment ’ immediately, and 
set Mary, here, to bathing and swathing all the 
women patients. But I intend in my practice 
to be a bold Eclectic, and get all the good I can 
find in any other theory. I have great faith in 
the recuperative properties of water, and intend 
to use it, and propose it as one of the most effi- 
cient salutary mediums. 

“I shall neither slavishly adhere to Calomel and 
Quinine, — the former of which, I am confident, 
has done great harm, — nor shall I wholly 
renounce them where they might be of service 
to me. 

“ However,” he added, laughing, “ I suppose 1 
am not to be held responsible for the dreams of 
my Dutch friend ; and I am sure the little folks 
will be glad to look at Mary’s portrait of the 
young doctor.” 

Aunt Mary, with true woman’s tact, had it 
already for inspection, for she wished to save hei 


162 


EVENING SEVENIH. 


husband, as far as was in her power, from too 
close criticism. 

It was truly diverting to look at her drawing, 
and I am sure all who are allowed to read these 
stories will be glad also to have this picture pro- 
cured for them likewise. There were the Imps 
and the bottles, the books and the ghosts ; the 
blister for Hans’ stomach, and the pestle to 
pound his head. There were the spear to prick 
him, and the evil whisperer at his ear. And 
there was Belladonna, with her box of silvered 
pills, like so many fresh snow seeds ; and there, 
too, was a little merciless wretch riding “ Jack 
Horse” on the poor sleeper’s knee. 

Ellen looked for the Spanish flies, but her 
aunt told her she feared they were too small to 
be visible. 

Tlven their father was pleased with the pic- 
ture, or seemed to be, and ventured no objec- 
tions to its allopathic satire. 

He would “ have a bathing room fitted up 
immediately,” he said, ‘‘ if all of them, uncle and 
aunt inclusive, would promise to go into the 
cold water every day.” 

“ Ugh ! ugh ! ugh I ” said Katie, running off 
with Ellen to their room. “ Let the old foiks trv 
it first.” 


CcBiiiiig Cigjjtli. 

Aunt Mary was ready for the expectant 
group, as they came in from a race in the bright 
moonlight ; and while they were busy pulling 
off their Polish boots and Scotch comforters, 
she was unwinding a strip off from several manu- 
scripts. 

“ Some of these are my school-girl themes,” 
said she, “ but I have vamped one of them over 
nicely for you, and called it ‘ La Mennai ; ’ and 
here is one that is shorter, but prepared specially 
for the occasion. It is the ‘ Beggar’s Curse.’ 
Which will you like best ? ” 

“We will like both best, as Ellen used to 
say, years ago,” replied Ben. 

“ But which will you have ? ” 

“ Which can we get ? ” asked Ben. 

“La Mennai!” exclaimed the little girls, 
“ for you have drawn a picture to that : ” and, 
to teU the truth, they felt somewhat afraid of 
the “ Beggar’s Curse.” 

So Ben poked the coals and Sophy brightened 
ths lamp, while the rest were settling themselves 
to listen to the story, which was as follows : — 

163 


PETITE AND LA MENNAL 


Time was, though long ago, when even phi* 
losophers were children. The great round world 
looked new to them ; and they went through it 
blundering and stumbling, feeUng awkwardly 
their way, and ever catching hold of the 
slightest support. To test, if not to taste, was 
their way of ascertaining what were the ingre- 
dients of material objects ; and most infantine 
were some of their experiments and explana- 
tions. 

La Mennai was one of these old children, who 
dwelt in a simple hermitage at the foot of the 
Hartz Mountains. 

By day he wandered through the glens, or 
scrambled up the peaks, studying, not so much 
the beauties as the wonders of the grand old 
hills ; and at night he would return — to continue 
our juvenile comparison — to put his finger in his 
mouth, and dream over his new mental acquisi- 
tions. The poet has been called the olden child ; 
but is not the philosopher, with his endless grop- 
ings over the world’s floor, and around the 
walls of his strange tenement, with his staring 
eyes, prying fingers, curious heart, with his self- 

164 


PETITE AND LA MENNAI. 


167 


questionings, and unceasing interrogatories of 
nature, is not he, too, the world’s child? the 
baby of his age ? 

La Mennai was a great baby or a great fool ; 
for so said all the shepherds of the Hartz. But 
he enjoyed his infancy, and only looked for full 
deyelopment when his swaddling clothes were 
laid aside, and he had mantled himself in those 
elastic robes which the soul loveth to wear 
forevermore. 

One evening La Mennai had lighted his taper, 
and he sat as he might better have sat without 
having done it, ruminating upon the complex 
nature even of his simple home and world, and 
deciding within himself upon a higher mountain 
climb for the morrow than he had ever indulged 
himself with — a ramble which should furnish his 
mind with still newer matter to vex itself upon. 

Then, also, he heard the forbidding hail rattle 
against his lattice. The patter of the storm beat 
a newreveille for the philosopher’s wits, and called 
them forth upon a fresh forray in the speculative 
regions he had so often traversed. The hail ! 
what was it? and the rain? the snow and the 
mist ? What were they all ? how wedded ? how 
descended they one from the other ? and which 
was progenitor? which the child? 

Patter, patter, patter ! click, click, clack ! at 
the lattice, and La Mennai arose, as if to let the 


168 


PETITE AND LA MENNAI. 


urgent hailstones in. The opening of the little 
wicket was succeeded by cold draught, in 
which entered the strangest little sprite that 
could be conceived. She was shining in a dia- 
mond suit of mail, of the thinnest laminae of ice ; 
the core of the snow mist was round her vest for 
pearls ; a fully-radiated flake was on her breast, 
and another, edged with its tiny spray seeds, 
beseemed her coronet ; a spear of icy spiculae 
was in her hand ; and certainly no Cinderilla 
ever had on such beautiful little glass slippers. 

The little frost elf stood unmoved in the cold 
draught, and her piercing glance was fixed on 
La Mennai. 

“Who and what are you?” questioned the 
philosopher. 

“ I am Petite, am I not ? for the rest you can 
see plainly what I am.” 

Then the little creature commenced hopping 
about the room like a hailstone in a storm ; and 
La Mennai said, “ You are a frozen sunbeam.” 

“Not that exactly!” she replied, “though 
many of those radiant things are frozen in me. 
But if you would know me more thoroughly, you 
must go home with me ! ” 

“ Where is your home, then ” said La 
Mennai. 

“ Come with me up the mountain, and I will 
show you one of them — the one you can see 
best.” 


PETITE AND LA MENNAI. 


169 


1 would rather wait for morning,” the sim- 
ple sage i-eplied. 

“ So you can, if you like ; but I must not wait 
here for you. This hot room will be the death 
of me if I do. I will dance on the lattice or over 
the snow crust all night, right merrily, and when 
you have slept we will set out together.” 

La Mennai saw that Petite grew more thin 
and shadowy even as he gazed upon her, that 
her frame wasted, and that tears coursed down 
over her shining armor, as he pressed too near 
her with his lamp, and so he drew back ; when, 
veiling herself in a little cloud or curl of vapor, 
she receded to the lattice, and launching on the 
storm, she was soon away. But La Mennai did 
not sleep well that night, and the little spurs or 
skates of Petite, dancing over his lattice, oft 
mingled with his dreams. 

The earliest dawn had hardly sent its hrst sen- 
tinel arrow to the mountain’s top ere the sprite 
was clicking again at the lattice ; and La Mennai, 
wrapping his fur mantle about him, was fain to 
follow her. 

The night shadows were still black in the low 
lands and ravines, as La Mennai set forth with 
his guide ; but the diamond brightness of her 
wand, the glisten of her whole form, was like a 
beacon star before his eyes. The cold winds 
whistled and the glaciers crackled as they passed 


170 


PETITE AND LA MENNAI. 


on ; but their steps did not falter. Petite was 
now at home., and her glee was reassurance to La 
Mennai. When his feet ached with cold or his 
hands were numb, it needed only a touch of the 
ice spirit’s wand to set him in that glow so often 
the successor of a frosty stroke. It must have 
been that same wand that struck the tracks in 
which his feet so safely traced their way, for not 
an accident befell them in the whole ascent. The 
sun had arisen, and his fiercest smile was on the 
icy peak before them, when Petite told him their 
morning’s walk was ended. After a moment’s 
leisure breathing, he stopped to gaze about and 
below him and blessed the fairy care that had 
provided for him this feast of polar beauty. Like 
the heart glow of earth, penetrating through the 
layers of her crusty bosom, was the morning sun, 
sending upwards his strong glow through the 
cloud strata of the sky above him. 

A roseate fog, lining the horizon, was first 
surmounted by the king of day ; and then he 
reached his golden arm into the floating mass of 
orient cloud above. ’Twas like a strong swim- 
mer amid the flues and ice flotillas of a northern 
sea — those cloudlets of the rose and crimson 
hue ; those banners of the deepest purple, and 
castled heights of mist; but aloft, arid over them 
the monarch swung his chariot into the 

upper pave of gold beyond, whi'« h> iwn light 
grew of an intenser whiteness. 


PETITE AND LA MENNAI. 


171 


Once, as La Mennai turned from this to rest 
his dazzled sight, he saw, afar, upon a distant 
Brocken peak, a gigantic shadow, looming high 
against the mists beyond him. As he paid in- 
voluntary homage to the mountain spectre, his 
own courtesies were answered by the shadowy 
being. Again he bowed, and again his homage 
was returned by the spectre. He walked back- 
ward, and the figure receded from his place. 
He passed aside, and the giant sidled to another 
cliff’. He stretched forth his arms, and the an- 
swering embrace was offered him. He pointed 
to the zenith, and the spectre raised solemnly his 
arms of mist to the dark clouds above him. He 
leaped around, and the graceful echoes of his 
movement were on the Brocken height. 

Then he stood still in his astonishment, while 
Petite laughed heartily. 

“ Who is that being?” asked La Mennai. 

“ O, that,” said she, with mock gravity, “ is my 
son John ; but he has played antics enough for 
once ; so you need see no more of him.” She 
waved her wand, and the mists rolled backward, 
with the Spectre Brocken enfolded in their depths. 

“ Shall we rest here long?” asked La Mennai. 

“ No ; that is, if you have seen enough of an 
exceeding high mountain, and of the glory of it. 
We will return now ; for by and by you will wish 
for other dinner than a melted snowball.” 


172 


PETITE AND LA MENNAI. 


So she struck her magic spear into the un 
softened ice, and made a descending path for 
the philosopher. But, in going back, the glories 
of the mountains far exceeded any thing he had 
seen through the dim dawning. The glaciers 
were robed in diamond glory, and spectrums of 
rainbow light were flitting over all the snow’s 
crust. The crisp path was paved with diamond 
germs, and all the icicles were filled with bright- 
ness. Crystal lakes were smiling gloriously 
within their beds of crystalline, and every ice 
peak waved a banner of flowing radiance. Here 
and there a shadow fell in its misty beauty into 
some safe fastness, and lay in quiet tranquillity 
amid the effulgence. 

But as they yet passed downward, the scenery 
somewhat changed. The ice sprite’s pets, those 
dancing prism hues, became less frequent and 
brilliant, and were succeeded by other transient 
favorites. Soft snow flakes came singly or in 
loving clusters adown the air, and nestled in the 
sharp glaciers, or wreathed them with wondrous 
garlands of arctic beauty. With no labor sound 
to break the stillness, they threw up their mystic 
barricades, or flung their floral shroud above the 
glistening crystals, and La Mennai in vain at- 
tempted to retain the tiny creatures in his grasp. 
At his rude touch they dissolved in tears, and 
they vanished as he mourned them; but the 


PETITE ^ND LA MENNAI. 


173 


sprite admitted no delay ; so they passed from 
under the snow cloud. “ This is my ‘ Giant’s 
Causeway,’ ” said Petite, as they came to crystal 
pillars of myriad joints that had sprung from the 
soil at the touch of Petite’s wand ; “ see its ef- 
florescent tops ! ” The sun grew high and warm, 
and Petite seemed to have lost her hurry, as he 
shone above the Brocken. 

Sometimes she found a little pool of melted 
snow within a mountain ice cup ; and using her 
spear or wand for oar, she dashed into its cool 
bath, and showered the diamond spray over La 
Mennai. Sometimes the dripping of a tiny gla- 
cier formed a rill or a lakelet, where, on the rem- 
nant of a snow crust, she launched and sculled 
her transparent raft about its surface. Some- 
times she slid adown the steepest ices, and anon 
she vanished beneath the radiant canopy of a 
sparkling brooklet. Sometimes she turned aside 
into the blue cave of a wind-hollowed snow- 
swirl, and anon she was lost amid the green 
lighted grottoes of a riven glacier. La Mennai ’s 
human eyes cOuld but half discern the resplend- 
ent beauties of spangles, spars, stalactites, and 
every form of radiant icicles, stars, and the varied 
spiculaB in which she revelled ; but he did see 
the more gross and prominent beauties of her 
favorite retreats, her shining castles, mimic foun- 
tains, snow-flowered gardens, her crystal arches, 


174 


PETITE AND LA MENNAI. 


and transparent lakelets. He began to fear ne 
would be quite left behind, when he saw her 
take a barge, like the frost from off a flower cup, 
and with a misty pennon starred with snow 
suns, launch into a rill, that soon became a 
torrent. She skilfully avoided the weed booms 
and mossy dams in her way. But his feet still 
kept the wand-broken path of yestereve : the 
sun was pleasant above him ; the streams, and 
lochs, and cascades were rapidly growing more 
broad and musical ; the cold blue lights of the 
snow hollows receded farther in ; the freaks of 
Petite over diamond bridges and through jew- 
elled paths and caverns became less wonderful, 
and the rainbow spectrums more seldom in their 
path ; the brown ridges reappeared among the 
glacial snows, and the soft mists of the low lands 
curled lovingly towards them. 

When Petite left him near the mountain’s foot, 
she said pointedly — for her look was like an ice 
needle — to La Mennai, “Now do you know 
me ? — though the most wondrous half of myself 
I have not yet disclosed.” 

“ I think I do,” the sage replied. “ I believe 
that in your mountain fastness I have studied 
you aright. There you are petrified to a tan- 
gible, salient form. But the mother of the 
Spectre Brocken is also the same little being 
V lo patters in the hail storm at my lattice 


EVENING EIGHTH. 


175 


window, and who drops softly through the trees 
in the warmer rains. She is in the ocean spray 
and the valley’s fog ; the clouds are her triumphal 
flags, and the twilight mists her robes and ban- 
ners. She is the mother of the streams, and 
the fountain’s source is in her heart. The cold 
snows are her hidden kindnesses, and the firm 
glaciers are her earth-needed storehouses. She 
is changeful in her beauty, but her nature is 
consistent to those who understand its variable 
moods. Petite herself, she is Magnus in her 
offspring, of whom the hermit spectre is least, 
even in his wild home, the Brocken.” 

La Mennai bowed his head towards the setting 
sun, and entered his retreat. 


“ And was that a school composition?” asked 
Sophy of her aunt. 

“ 1 was once requested to write an article upon 
hail, snow, dew, rain, fog, &c., describing their 
resemblances and differences, the manner in 
which each was formed from the atmospheric 
moisture, and the phases in which they ap- 
peared on the earth. It was this, and a sugges- 
tion from some writer I had read, that, with all 
the other elves, the ice fairies ought not to be 
forgotten, that influenced my poor fancy, and 


176 


EVENING EIGHTH. 


suggested this sketch. I hope it has been sat- 
isfactory.” 

“ Yes, yes ; but why not give us the ‘ Beg- 
gar’s Curse ’ also ? It is yet early, and we are 
not sleepy,” said Fred and Sophy. 

“ Early, arid yet not sleepy ! ” exclaimed Ben ; 
“ what complimentary auditors you have, aunt 
Mary!” 

“ Your transposition has not improved the 
compliment,” said uncle Charles; “but, Mary, 
let us have the other. I have my private opinion 
that it will prove the best” 

“ The best it may be, and yet not the most in- 
teresting or original ; the goodest, as Ellen used 
to express it in those years she hears so often 
referred to now, but not the most new or fan- 
ciful.” * 

* Aunt Mary’s second story is necessarily omitted in this 
printed record of their evening’s entertainment. 


Cn^ning Mhil). 

This was their mother’s evening, and these 
children seemed to feel, as other children often 
do, that their mother could do better than any 
body else, and expressed something very like 
this conviction. 

“ No, I have no fancy,” said their mother ; 
‘‘but if I must expose my lack of it, let that 
confession content you, with some simple rela- 
tion that shall prove it.” 

She looked around upon the group, and with 
the view of that full throng there came, as often 
comes to the mother’s sight, the vision of one 
who was not there — Little Willie, who laid his 
golden locks upon her breast before the oldest 
of this circle was born to her. And Willie must 
be brought into the fireside circle this once ; he 
should create an interest for at least one winter 
evening. 

“ Shall I tell you,” asked the mother, “ of 
Willie’s Star?” 

“ Yes, any thing of Willie, dear little Willie,” 
said Ellen, who could not realize that if he had 
lived he would have been taller than Fred or 
Evaleen. So she began her reminiscence of 

177 


WILLIE’S STAR. 


There was a bright star that caught Willie’s 
eye, when he was nursing on my knee, at the 
large window ; for it shone just where the two 
high tops of oak and elm branch widest froiri 
each other. There he saw it looking down with 
its bright eye, and sometimes he said he could 
see the whole of a shining face in it. And 
when the night was darkest, when even the 
moon was absent from the sky, Willie saw his 
star, and said it shone most brightly. I did 
not care to weaken his childish faith ; so I let 
him tell me of the star, of its soarings, of its 
twinklings, of its loving glances ; and he never 
dreamed that I saw it not, save in the far blue 
depths of my baby’s eyes. 

It was such sweet, innocent pastime, that I 
loved to see him clap his hands and shake his 
ringlets at his star. And when he grew older, 
he learned to fly his kite, and would send it 
aloft on the breeze, with kisses laden for his star. 
His little banner, too, with its striped bunting, 
was more dear because of the white stars on its 
blue fold. He loved to feed the birds that came 
down from the oak and elm, and to hear their 

178 


Willie’s star. 


181 


songSj for often he said he looked when they 
were wavering about his star. 

It w^as this heavenly fancy of his that made 
me look upon my jewel as only loaned me for a 
little time, and then to be taken up and set in the 
bright crown which the Father loveth to wear. 

Then, again, there were times when he seemed 
so glad, so playful, with such a peach bloom on 
his cheek, that I thought this gem might be 
given to irradiate our home for many years, and 
then to take its place in the great galaxy of 
Christian heroes who devote their lives to the 
extension of the cross. 

But this was not to be ; and I knew it when 
the eyes became more starry, and the peach 
glow of a deeper hue. We took our Willie to 
a southern clime, where the moss hangs in long 
silken fringes from the old trees, where the acacia 
grows, and the magnolia blooms. And there, 
too, where the white, fragrant blossoms are so 
thick and large, my boy saw his owm sweet, 
silver star, shining its old welcome. He was 
very playful, and all were very tender of him ; 
and, at first, the novel sights were most reviving, 
but in time this passed away, and we brought 
him back to this old home. And all the way 
his star dimpled in the waters, or sparkled in the 
vessel’s wake, or flew around upon the spray, 
hiding its light, he thought, in his own showered 


182 


WILLIE S STAR. 


curls And when he was at home again, therii, 
too, from between the boughs of the oak and 
elm, was shining, with its wonted light, his dear, 
old star. 

When our little Lottie came to us, his joy was. 
almost too great for his strength ; and I know 
not how he would have vented it but for his star. 
He said it shone now with a double light, and 
that there was a little pale star growing out of 
the blue mists behind it. So the star was much 
company during those long, lonesome days, 
when all were so busy with the lesser light. 
But our little girl grew very strong and heavy ; 
in due time she could run about and pluck the 
flowers, and I was blessed with more leisure to 
devote to Willie. He had now grown very 
weak, and his large crystal orbs were full of the 
sweet light he had drawn in from heaven. He 
would lie for hours, in my arms, with lifted lids 
and earnest gaze, fixed upon that one point in 
the heavens ; and, one night, he asked, calmly, 
“ Dear mother, may I go to the star 

It was the first time he had ever spoken 
of departure. “ Willie ! my Willie I ” said 1. 
“ It will never come to me,” he said ; “ I have 
stretched out my hands to it so often ; but, 
motlier, it will never come. May I not go t<? 
the star?” 

“ Certainly, my child ! ” He smiled very 


Willie’s star. 


183 


pleasantly, and soon he was rapt in silence and 
his star. 

I placed his little crib so that it looked up to 
the old treetops ; and though I had many 
duties besides my other child, yet Willie never 
felt neglected if he could only gaze upon his star. 

One eve, when I had put my dark-haired little 
rogue to rest, I took him from his crib, and 
felt that he had grown more frail and trembling 
since last I held him to my heart. I raised his 
head and pillowed it against my breast ; but he 
seemed too drowsy to look up or speak to me. 
I could not bear to see him thus. 

“ Willie ! darling ! ” said 1. He smiled faintly. 

Willie, look up ! Your star is peeping through 
tne elm-tree boughs ! ” There ivas a star just 
beaming among the high branches. 

He opened his eyes. Yes, it was there ! 
How radiant he looked ! and the little wasted 
hands were raised, but again fell clasped upon 
his breast. But he mmir'ii’ed prettily a little 
rhyme I had taught him. commencing thus : — 

“ May I love you, little star, 

Shining throujjh the blue afar? 

May I try, like you, to shine ? 

May such brightness e’er be mine ? 

Little star, when hence I go. 

In the heaven too, may I glow ? ” 

halt the words were lost in whispers. J 


184 


EVENING NINTH. 


held him closely, softly to me, that my strong 
heart-beats might lend force for his. A dream 
was stealing over him ; the light seemed fading 
from his eyes ; and then, suddenly, like a 
reviving flame, it lighted all his countenance. 
“Mother!” said he, earnestly, “may T now go 
to the star ? ” 

“ Yes, Willie. Go in peace! God bless you.” 
I kissed him as his head fell back again, and the 
star had sunk below the trees. When he went 
out of that light slumber, it was to a world 
where they wake evermore, and I saw that then 
the star had set. 

You all know where we buried him ; of the 
little headstone with its sculptured star; and 
how I love at eventide to stand beside his grave; 
for never have I taken my watch there but some 
bright star has bent its rays on me — rays of the 
same sweet brightness that oft had shone from 
Willie’s eyes. 


There was silence for a few moments as their 
mother closed her narrative of little Willie ; and 
their father still sat, with his face shaded by his 
hand, when the old drawing of little Willie was 
brought forth from the mother’s portfolio. 

There were no comments made upon eithe? 


EVENING NINTH. 


ISi 


the picture or the story ; but the subdued expres- 
sion with which they gazed upon the drawing 
proved how successful their mother had been in 
awakening an interest for her departed boy. 

“ Willie has reminded me of ‘ Isobel’s Child,’ ” 
said aunt Mary ; and she arose to bring Mrs. 
Browning’s “ Poems ” from her trunk. 

She found and read to them the poem which 
their mother had never known of before. 

“ I did not resist so long as Isobel,” she added, 
“ nor did I allow myself to grieve inordinately 
when he was gone. I remembered the German 
story of the dead child, whose shroud was 
drenched with his mother’s tears, so that he 
could not sleep in his little grave. I thought, 
too, of Willie more as another star in heaven 
than as food for the worms of earth. 

But when she looked around upon the group, 
and saw that the younger ones, from being 
serious, were almost sad, she thought she should 
tell something more to cheer them. 

The clock was pointing to an earlier hour than 
they usually separated ; and while the portrait 
of Willie was passing from hand to hand, she 
sat recalling other memories, with which she 
might while away another hour. 

And the other memories came to her ; she 
remembered of a pretty dream she once had 
enjoyed, but which she knew she could not 


186 


EVENING NINTH. 


reproduce, in all its sleepful beauty, for her ehii 
dren and their cousins. 

Ben was the first to recover his wonted spirits. 
He teased Eva, and tangled Lottie’s worsteds; 
he pulled a hair from Freddy’s head, and twisted 
his fist in Ellen’s curls ; he slipped apple par- 
ings in Katie’s pocket, and threw a skein of silk, 
his aunt had deputed him to hold, over Sophy’s 
neck for a bridle. 

Then he begged Eva for a story, saying it was 
due them all, as Pocahontas was not original. 
But their mother cut short all dispute by the 
narration of her dream of The Blue Fairies.* 

* This story, like the one in the former chapter, is necessarily 
omitted. 


Cneaiiig CfEtlj. 

“ Papa’s turn! pajDa’s turn to-night! ” 

Yes, we are all ready to hear a story ! ” 

Such was the greeting their father received^ 
as he entered the parlor, where he found ready 
his chair and slippers. 

“ How can it have been that we were blessed 
with such fanciful children ? ” exclaimed their 
father. “ Your mother pleads off from a frolic- 
some fancy, and I am sure that a hard-headed 
old gentleman like myself may be excused from 
frolicking with any thing more ethereal than 
these very substantial pets of mine;” and he 
stroked the curly heads around his chair. 

“ But are you not a politician, papa ? ” asked 
Ellen, with a naivete that caused great explosions 
of laughter from the boys ; and even her mother 
smiled. 

“ And what has that to do with telling stories^ 
my little girl ? ” 

Ellen did not know. She only had a confused 
notion that a politician made speeches; that 
her father sometimes exercised his talents in that 
way ; and that what he now disclaimed was the 
ability to entertain an audience, even a very 

187 


188 


EVENING TENTH. 


partial one, like the group now gatliered about 
him. 

“ Does it not make speeches ? ” she replied. 

“ Yes, my love ; and as I have a tongue, I 
suppose you expect me to use it for your enter- 
tainment. So we can have a talk, as the 
Indians call it ; and it may, as Burns expresses 
it, ‘ perhaps turn out a sang, perhaps turn out 
a sermon.’ If 1 have a right to wonder at my 
children’s ability ‘ to point a moral or adorn 
a tale,’ I have no right to be surprised at 
their good listening qualities ; for, should your 
mother disclaim all native talent in such 
way, I am willing to claim the entire transmis- 
sion of this ability myself. There were many 
witch and ghost stories rife when I was a 
boy ; and though my parents disapproved our 
listening to them, it was because there was then 
a fear that our credulity might overcome reason. 
The witch stories were mostly too spiteful and 
gi’oss to take pleasant hold upon the imagina- 
tion. I remember but few of them, and but 
one that I will now repeat. The ghost legends 
lay farther back upon the groundwork of the 
ideal, arid were more creditable to the fancy and 
to the heart. 

“ The witch stories embodied some of the 
worst, the ghost legends some of the better, ele 
ments in our natures.” 


EVENING TENTH. 


189 


“ Please tell us how it was, papa,” said Ellen. 

“ Yes, let us know enough of the difference to 
judge why good or bad ourselves,” said Ben. 

“ A witch story was usually a gross, unfeeling 
charge against some poor, helpless creature ; 
almost always a woman, who lived in her lone 
hut by the hillside, or in the edge of the 
wood, whose friends were dead, or children 
gone ; whom want and care had shapened to an 
ugly mould ; whose only pets were the half-wild 
cats, that ate our singing birds for each day’s 
meals, and scratched, like mad ones, through the 
forests at a stranger’s steps ; and whose manners 
ignorance and solitude had made uncouth and 
strange. Doubtless insanity was often mistaken 
for diablerie., and a wart or mole was a sure sign 
that the unfortunate possessor had cherished 
imps for nurslings. 

“ When butter would not come, it was supposed 
bewitched ; and then a teakettle of hot water, or 
some glowing steel, was thrown in to scald or 
burn the intruder away. Sometimes it had tne 
desired effect, and the disinthralled cream coag- 
ulated in obedience to the churn dash — a result 
which should have taught them useful facts in 
chemistry, instead of riveting suspicions upon the 
helpless. But at these times there were watch- 
ful, prying eyes in every out-of-the-way hut or 
house ; and never a search for her but some old 


190 


EVKNING TENTH. 


woman was found sick abed after such an experb 
mentj or limping about with bandaged hand or 
foot. This, of course, proved a foregone conclu- 
sion, and made assurance doubly sure. There 
was some variation in the narratives. Occasion- 
ally an old lady would hobble out to make her 
neighborly calls ; and marvels would be related of 
the tables leaping as her old bonnet was laid 
down upon it ; and of all the plates and bowls 
upon the dressers shaking in their fear, or in dread 
welcome, as her hand lay casually upon the shelf 
— which wonders, if they had the least founda- 
tion, are to be placed in the same category with 
our table jumpings and spirit rappings ; mysteries 
whose source is away in the very heart fountains 
of nature ; fit subjects for the calm psychologist 
and patient speculator, but not to be explained, 
in any degree, until a long investigation, a 
patient search through all the fields on the night 
side of our being, have brought to light the real 
facts, and their true relations to each other — 
those facts which have so mystified aiid misled 
many of the most subtle intellects of all days, of 
other times. But Katie and Ellen look sleepy! ” 
“ No I no ! do tell on about the ghosts now, 
if you please. And we "were not sleepy, only 
still, and a very little afraid ; for the old witches 
were sometimes killed ! ” said Ellen, with a 
sigh 


EVENING TENTH. 


191 


“ The gl. osts, I said, were more creditable to 
their delineators. They were more shadowy and 
interesting ; appealed more to the sensibilities, 
and were often workers of a just retribution. 
Their mission was to avenge the robbed or 
murdered, or those who were wronged in any 
way. They came back from the grave, permitted 
to wake from that sleep to bring justice upon 
the evil doer, and sometimes comfort to the 
mourner. 

“ These superstitions are much more innocent 
than the many more universal, so oft reduced to 
axioms, founded upon some old delusion of 
which none can now trace the origin ; as, that 
Friday is an unlucky day ; that a horse’s shoe 
will keep off witches ; that a cat or a dead body 
brings evil on a ship.” 

“Poor pussy!” said Katie; “is she generally 
mistrusted ? ” 

“ I had a friend once, who told me that it was 
with the utmost difficulty he could man his ship, 
because some ladies had been launched in her — 
an objection that he had a very gallant desire to 
do away. He was equally troubled to find sailors 
for a vessel in which a cat had been a favorite. 
One anecdote of them (the cats, of course) was 
this: In a foreign port, some nice little pussy 
had found her way on board a ship, had liked her 
quarters, and all unknown to the master or crew 


192 


EVEN NG TENTH. 


without booking her name or paying her fare, 
had taken passage for America. 

“ Perhaps poor pussy thought this a country in 
which cats were free, even to try the ocean wave ; 
but if so, she was sadly mistaken, as many other 
poor wretches complain that they have been. 
As soon as she was discovered, there was a great 
uproar about her. The sailors felt that she 
brought bad luck ; that her presence portended 
terrible evil ; and they had not even the privilege 
of casting this feline Jonah into the sea, for to 
kill the cat was as portentous as to keep her. 
So, with these two unpleasant horns to the dilem- 
ma, and no knowing which was best to hang 
her on, the situation of Mrs. Pussy and all her 
companions was very unenviable. Yet, withal, 
she was a nice little personage. There never was 
a change of weather but pussy could foretell 
it ; often in the night, entering her master’s 
cabin, laying her soft paw upon his face, thus 
gently awaking him ; and when he would arise 
and go on deck, he always found that it was well 
that he had done so. 

“ Even this protecting watch did not soften the 
prejudice of the mariners, and the complaints 
were still perpetual. Finally, the cat disappeared. 
Her soft paw was no more laid to her master’s 
cheek if storm clouds were arising ; and she was 
seen never again. The distress of the sailors was 


EVENING TENTH. 


193 


Dot abated. Her dead body lying between 
decks, or somewhere invisible about them, boded 
no good, naturally 53r supernaturally. 

‘‘ One of the crew acknowledged to the captain 
that he had killed the cat, hoping her absence, 
would allay the fears of the sailors, and had re- 
solved not to inform them until they had arrived 
in port. Then the secret was divulged, and the 
men were assured that neither the cat’s presence 
nor her cruel murder had prevented them a 
pleasant and unusually successful voyage.” 

“ But loas pussy a witch ?” asked Ellen ; “ or 
how did she foretell the storm?” 

“ As many other animals do, my child — by her 
strong, pure instincts. Cats, and, for aught we 
know, all the feline tribe, have a great deal of 
electricity in them. This is ascertained by very 
easy and common experiments. With this, or 
of this, is the glare, even in the dark, of their 
eyes, and their great vital power, upon which is 
based the superstition of their nine lives, and the 
fact of their great endurance of cold, fatigue, 
pain, wounds, starvation, and all those ills poor 
pussyhood is heir to. But have I not talked 
enough ? ” 

“ Yes ; no ; talked enough, but not told enough. 
If you please, just tell us one story : a little short 
one would be better than none,” replied Katie. 


194 


EVENING TENTH. 


“ A ghost story, if you will,” suggested Fred. 
“ You said those were better than the witch 
narrations, though we woul^ find no fault with 
either, or presume to be choosers.” 

“ Well, then, here is one ghost story for to- 


THE SPECTRE HOUSEWIFE. 


There was an old house in my native town 
which, like all human structures, had once been 
new, but not, like most others of its kind, had 
grown old in usefulness, but it had been deserted 
in its first bright shingled and painted glory. It 
was a haunted house, and none ventured to dis- 
turb the troubled spirits who had taken up their 
abode within its walls. The moss gathered on 
the roof and the sand on the sills, the rust upon 
the latch and cobwebs on the walls ; the gi’ass 
grew high in the path, and the fruit rotted be- 
neath the overhanging trees. A haunted house, 
’twas said ; so the boys only snowballed it at a 
distance, and exiled, anathematized cats sought 
a safe asylum amid its loneliness. No wonder 
sounds were heard by the passers by, or that the 
winds should wail and storms clatter, with such 
very able (or disabled) mediums to assist them 
in their manifestations ; but it was told that 
there were not only sounds, but sights. The 
lone house was not deserted. There was an 
occupant, a keeper, and her I will call the spectre 
housewife. 

I never heard it, but others said they did — the 

195 


196 


THE SPECTRE HOUSEWIFE. 


whir of her spinning wheel and the rocking of 
her cradle ; for the spectre woman had a spectre 
child ; and both had been seen, not only in the 
late twilight, but also by the bright moonbeams, 
and even more frequently by the broad day’s sun. 
Sometimes it was a shadowy form, flitting by 
the window, sometimes resting a few moments 
in the doorway, with her child pressed to her 
breast; and there were those who had looked 
near or long enough to recognize the face and 
form. She was well known, even previous to 
the description of a traveller, who, late upon a 
stormy night, had sought admission at her door, 
whose wants had been kindly ministered unto, 
and who, after lodging and refreshment, for 
which payment had been tendered and refused, 
had passed with the morning on his way, to 
learn with astonishment that she, who had 
been so kind and courteous to him, so helpful 
to his bodily necessities, was only a spectre 
housewife. 

But she, when a living woman, or earlier still, 
when a child, had been taken into the family of 
a good housekeeper, partly as servant, partly as 
child. She grew up, a pleasant, useful member 
of the family, and in time was the affianced of 
her mistress’s son. 

The marriage was deferred, that some labors 
or speculations might be terminated ; and these 


THE SPECTRE HOUSEWIFE. 


197 


proving successful, a still longer delay was re- 
solved upon, that a beautiful new house might 
be erected. Perhaps delay, perhaps grief, per- 
haps a warrantable anxiety, preyed upon the 
poor gill’s mind ; but to her appeals to her lover 
that their union might at length be consum- 
mated, there was ever the light, merry answer, 
that she need not fear, she should he mistress of 
the new house. The work went bravely on, the 
building was completed, and the marriage was 
still delayed. 

Finally, the poor girl disappeared, no one ever 
knew how, or when, or where. She was gone. 
Some answer was given to the usual questions 
about her ; and in time all might have been for- 
gotten, but for the marriage with another of the 
betrothed master, succeeded by his removal into 
his new house. But he could not live there. 
This wife could not be mistress there ; another 
had been promised that. They also disap- 
peared, and went, if not into a far country, yet 
into a far part of a wide country, leaving un- 
tenanted their suspected house. No one else 
sought the place. It remained unsold, a monu- 
ment to an evil conscience, if not the domicile 
of a spectre housewife. 


198 


EVENING TENTH. 


And was that true, papa ? ” 

“ I tell the tale as it was told to me. It was 
believed to be true, but there were many inter- 
esting incidentals that I do not remember. Had 
I thought to have repeated the story thus, I 
should have taken particular note of all its mi- 
nutiae. You have but the bare outline,*and can 
now guess, or you are no Yankees, what a ghost 
story was in my young days.’’ 

“ Were they always short?” asked Katie, half 
pouting. 

“ No ; a vivid fancy could see there enough to 
keep it in operation all day and all night.” 

“ But you will tell us another, this was so 
brief.” 

“ Yes ; you will certainly oblige us with a 
witch story.” 

“ Why, let me see if I can think of one. You 
must remember the private opinion I have al- 
ready expressed of the witches.” 

“ You will assist us to form ours.” 

“ Certainly; well, here is another cfuntry tale. 
It is of the widow of my father’s old Mend, 
General Camden. 


WARDROBE WITCHES. 


Madam Camden lived quietly in a large house, 
fioiited by a long lawn that was thickly over- 
grown with young trees, and ornamented, or 
rather engrandized, by a few tall and noble old 
forest denizens, who overlooked, like a pedagogue 
his pupils, the straggling advances, in an upward 
direction, of the little spruces and pines who 
were one day to take their places on the out* 
look of Camden Place. The long road from the 
green gate, through the wooded lawn, to the 
door of the building, was now so seldom used, 
that stripes of green, like narrow ribbon streaks, 
alternated with the brown cart ruts and the 
horses’ path. 

But Madam Camden did not fear to remain so 
all “ alone in her glory.” She did not realize 
how changed was the world since she was a city 
belle, with her daily outlay for gloves and shoes, 
and the suits of pearls and garnets which she 
wore to evening routs, where invariably her 
hand was demanded by the general, as the best 
of partners. 

Those ball-room gloves and shoes ! Many of 
them were still lying in old drawers or closets, 


202 


WARDROBE WITCHES. 


wrapped in napkins or bundled in chests, and 
annually, if not quarterly, inspected, to ascertain 
what might be the ravages of rats or moths, or 
to be secured against such depredations. But 
these were only minor articles amid the multi- 
tude of relics, mementoes, memorials, and resi- 
dues of the once splendid wardrobe of a city 
belle. There were large closets where dresses 
hung, of silk that could stand if not walk alone, 
and velvets that were stiff with embroidery. 
Muslins fluttered with the lightest breath of an 
opening door or gasping window, and tissues 
still smiled with the glistening light of times 
long gone. Old bonnets had their usual awk- 
ward but decisive way of commemorating de- 
ceased fashions, and, in silent but impressive 
language, lectured against the present as well as 
the past ; in fact against all change in head gear. 
Shawls from Cashmere, France, or Persia, in the 
same dialect, — words though of example, not of 
warning, needing no interpreter, — delivered their 
exordium in favor of immutable laws of dress, 
citing the well-known edicts, or habits, of the 
Medes and Persians. Gauze and lace w^aged a 
very open, but broken warfare, in the same 
cause ; and an old diamond pin had many bril 
liant coruscations of wit and reason in his argu- 
ment for the . hard and stable. Not a pearl oi 
garnet contradicted him ; and even thick old rib- 
bons stiffly waved applause. 


WARDROBE WITCHES. 


203 


There was good reason why the old wardrobe 
should hold many private consultations upon 
these subjects ; for the good reason surely was 
that they had nothing else to do. Madam Cam- 
den, with her rheumatic limbs and neuralgic, 
brains, had little, just as little, need of thick furs 
and mantles as of delicate gauze and laces. 

She sat before her chamber fire from morn to 
night, the new year in and the old year out; 
sometimes with her screen in her hand, a habit 
for the preservation of complexion ; sometimes 
with a little easy knitting, of soft worsted or 
Berlin wool, clicking her ivory needles, and 
thinking of her sunset satin dress, and the im- 
pression it made — with herself in it of course 
— upon the general. Madam Camden always 
gave full credit to her dresses for any excitement 
she had caused; indeed, they seemed in her 
estimation to have been exclusively influential 
in such matters, and so to be cherished, vener- 
ated, and preserved for the brave things they had 
accomplished. 

But Madam Camden’s relatives, and those of 
ner deceased husband, who were to be her heirs 
according to his will, did not seem to sympathize 
with her at all in her antique prepossessions and 
associations. 

Their cold, hard common sense, and reasoning 
of the useful and judicious, were as little palatable 


204 


WARDROBE WITCHES. 


to her. Their gentle hints, and, finally, open in- 
sinuations, that her old silks, and velvets, and 
satins were never to do her any more good, even if 
it were proper for her to wear any thing but simple 
mourning, only made the old lady outrageously 
vexed. Every allusion to her bodily infirmities 
she understood as a decided hint that it was 
time for her to take her bed ; or as an aside to 
the grim angel to carry her to his own domin- 
ions without any delay. This was the more un- 
fortunate, as the young people concerned, though 
rather poor, were very well disposed, and would 
have never harbored thoughts like those imputed 
to them, if the lady herself had not suggested 
such opinions as the most likely to actuate their 
conduct. 

But what was really horrible, the wardrobe 
itself became, in time, quite treacherous and false 
to its old mistress, void of all allegiance ; for, one 
by one, some of the more important and elegant 
members of it departed. After the first dis- 
covery, they became less quiet in their mode of 
departure; and the servants felt no doubt but 
witches had obtained admission to these loneliest 
haunts of the old domicile. Such rustling of 
silks and dangling of ribbons, such fluttering . 
of gauze and muffled tramp^s of velvet, such 
rattling of necklaces and clicking of bijouterie 
it was awful to hear. 


WARDROBE WITCHES 


20^ 


Two maids left the house in consequence of 
the fearful disturbances ; and the only one who 
constantly remained was one remembered in the 
widow’s will, and who wa^to have a great inter- 
est in the remains of her personal property. She 
was as much at a loss as Madam to account for 
the marvellous noises and disappearances. The 
house was fastened every night, and Hero, the 
great dog, kept watch before the door. 

No one ever saw the moving of a light through 
the forbidden rooms ; and mortal footsteps had 
never been detected among the sounds which 
usually awoke them after the midnight hour. 

It was “ midsummer eve,” — so the old lady her- 
self informed me, — and very late ere she retired. 
A volume of Spenser’s “ Fairy Queen ” had been 
brought from the library and opened before her, 
but the dim eyes only sought here and there a 
passage, to receive it as a prompter for the 
recalling of scenes she once had liked. But now 
every thing connected with the supernatural had 
to her a new and strange interest. Were there, 
thought she, a race of beings so different from 
us in some respects ? so superior, it might be, at 
all events independent of us ? And were their 
powers vivified, if not increased, when dealing 
retribution upon the wrong doer ? And was she a 
wicked one ? Was it wroilg for her to hoard the 
cast-off clothes, no longer suitable, if wearable ? 


206 


WARDROBE WITCHES. 


Was it injustice to deprive others, who might 
enjoy it, of that pleasure? Had they a right to 
complain because she did what she would with 
her own? Were all^the favored ones of earth 
but stewards of their great possessions, and were 
all the short comers, the needy, and the scantily 
supplied, in strict right the owners of that which 
could be of service to them, and now was of no 
use to its possessors ? Such were the reflections 
of Madam, and long was her reverie. At a late 
hour she retired to rest, and long after the bright 
moon had arisen was it ere she sunk into the 
heavy, fitful slumber of the aged. 

She was aroused by the same hurry scurry that 
so often had alarmed her. The door was open 
into her nurse’s chamber. “ Betsey,” she said, 
“we must look into this. Come with me; there 
is a good moon, that will light us any where. 
Come quick. I will follow, or you may lead ; 
just which you please.” 

Betsey was not particularly delighted with 
the “ right of way ” thus allowed her, but said 
nothing. A light was struck, while Madam was 
getting out of bed; and in their long night dresses 
the two women crossed the upper hall, and 
entered the large room, once a great chamber, 
but now principally used as a depository of “ ole 
do’ ; ” in fine, Madkm’s wardrobe, and now the 
haunt of the witches. The curtains were thrown 


WARDROBE WITCHES. 


207 


back, to aid the half-lighted lamp, and the play 
of varied lights and shadows rendered still more 
confused the scene of disorder within. The 
winds,, too, which rushed through the newly- 
opened doors, endowed with a fearful, lifelike 
motion the drapery of house, windows, and couch. 

Some of Madam’s nicest g^wns were frolick- 
ing on the bed, flirting their long trails, and 
threshing about their limp arms ; some were 
capering about the room in all manner of fan- 
tastic gyrations ; some were hiding in the denser 
shadows, and some were glimmering by the 
bright windows. A long velvet bodice and habit 
came up to her without any head, and let drop 
a profusion of old-fashioned courtesies ; a satin 
body with embroidered train was sweeping it 
across the carpet in a stately minu^ ; an India 
print was sidling down by the wainscot, with a 
long fan for partner in a contra dance ; a lace 
scarf and veil kept step together, for a few mo- 
ments, in a fancy hornpipe. The gold chain and 
bracelets beat time for the company ; and Madam 
saw plainly that her well-kept wardrobe was 
likely to prove light footed, if not light fingered. 
Several dresses, overtopped by quaint old bon- 
nets and shadowed by rich long veils, had already 
glided past her, and were tripping down the 
stairs, followed by trailing shawls and immense 
mantillas ; while odd, if not eccentric, shoes 
stepped briskly about in every direction. 


208 


WARDROBE WITCHEo. 


There was a long cloak, trimmed with fur, 
turned inside out, and stalking quietly over the 
floor. A big muff, with a tippet dangling for a 
train, followed after ; and a” dressing case went 
cobump, cobump, to the very foot of the stair- 
case. 

“ Avaunt, withies, fiends, and demons,” said 
Madam, in an heroic strain that was worthy of 
Joan of Arc or Mrs. Caudle ; and she flourished 
a Bible over her head just caught from the light- 
stand. Begone ! In the name of the Holy 
One, depart.” 

There was a sudden stillness, then the soft 
gliding of truant dresses back to their places; 
and, as the light she bore waxed brighter, Betsey 
replaced the curtains, peeped under beds and 
behind boxes, but could find no tangible witch 
or wizard. Their power was manifest, but no 
salient point presented itself to their vengeance 
or their clemency. 

Madam retired to bed again, but too weary 
and excited to sleep ; and insisted the next 
day, in her comparison of notes with Betsey, 
that the uncouth noises did not quite cease until 
dawn. 

Now, since it was clear that the wardrobe was 
bewitched, there was no more pleasure in con- 
templating it; and enjoining secrecy upon Betsey, 
that the value of her gifts might not be depre- 


EVENING TENTH. 


209 


dated, she sent for her nieces and other juvenile 
relatives, and after giving them a fine supper, 
called them to her guest chamber, most brilliantly 
lighted up, while every absentee for once was in 
its right place, and then and there she distributed 
among them the rich treasures they knew she 
had so highly valued. Their delight was natural 
and extreme ; and honest Betsey, it is related, 
sympathized heartily with them in their abundant 
possessions ; indeed, from that time, she seemed 
as much a favorite with the whole clique of 
them as Madam herself, though she, compared 
with her former self, was now a jewel in their 
memories. 

It was natural that Madam should love to 
expatiate to Betsey upon her self-sacrifice and 
generosity, though the good nurse privately de- 
clared that, for her mistress, one good double 
flannel dressing gown was worth more than all 
the dresses that had ever attracted to their lonely 
mansion the Wardrobe Witches. 


While the story was going on, aunt Mary had 
sat quietly drawing the witches on the back of 
a note envelope, and when it was done they 
crowded around her to get a glimpse of it. 

Ben, Phil, and all the great critics, were vastly 


210 


EVENING TENTH. 


pleased, and declared it must be finished off for 
their book that was to be. 

‘‘ I did not know that any but the Alexan- 
drian library had been determined upon,” said 
their aunt. 

“ Yes, a regular fire-proof, glass- cased papier 
mache^ ornamented library, filled with muslin- 
covered, steam-printed books I ” Such was the 
library they had in view ; of which their twelve 
night stories were to make a part. 

While this discussion was closing, Katie was 
privately whispering her conclusion to Ellen, that 
the elder people’s stories were no better than 
Fred’s and Sophy’s. But this opinion was too 
heretical to receive the entire concurrence of the 
little blue-eyed one. 

“ Papa’s are gooderj'' said she, laughing. 

“ But what explanation are we to have of the 
Wardrobe Witches?” asked Phil. 

“ Your aunt Mary’s,” rejoined their father. 

“ That the wardrobe truly was bewitched ? ” 

“ What else would you like ? ” 

“ I supposed that it was to appear that the 
young people alluded to had been playing their 
tricks upon the old lady.” 

“ Which, undoubtedly, would seem very natu- 
ral to you ! ” 

* Why, not at all supernatural.” 

But I was talking of witches ! ” 


EVEN'NG TENTH. 


211 


“ Just what you often do, if you do not really 
try for it. Have not we been accused of be- 
witching the* clock, and the lamp, and the door 
knob ; and spiriting away the almanac, and the 
newspaper, and the paper folder, and doing a 
thousand such mischievous tricks, ever since we 
came home for the holidays ? ” 

Such was the discussion between Phil and 
their father ; but Ellen was detected in a yawn, 
and the little ones were forthwith marched oft 
to bed. 


duelling dlenentti. 

Charlotte was ready with her Hibernian 
revelation ; but when she entered with her care- 
fully-written tale, she was surprised to see some 
sad looks, and hear some sad tones, from the 
juveniles, who were huddled in one corner. 

“ What is the matter to-night ? ” 

“ O, we were thinking how sorry we are that 
the stories are almost over. To-morrow will be 
the last.’^ 

“ And to-night we have, of course, the last but 
one. But, children, do not make a fuss about 
it. Perhaps we shall find it quite a relief to be 
well through them all ; and may feel that there 
is nothing to be regretted in the finale of the 
series,” said Ben, patronizingly. 

“ Well, I am sorry, for I know Lottie has a 
pretty story and a pretty picture, too,” said El- 
len, quite in earnest. 

Yes, you may regret, for you do not have 
them to write,” said Fred. 

“ But if you express too much grief, may be 
Lottie will not add to your afflictions by reading 
her Milesian Myth,” said Ben. 


212 


EVENING ELEVENTH. 


213 


“ I will trust Lottie for that, or any thing else 
she has promised to do,” said Fred again. 

“ But had we^iot better call Biddie in ? ” said 
Ben again, “ that she may see if she is correctly 
reported.” 

“ And she, too, will trust Lottie,” said their 
mother, “ for she asked and obtained my permis- 
sion to go to her brother’s this evening.” 

“ Well, we are ready,” said Ben, “ for the bogs 
and bogles. Come to my arms, Nelly dear, that 
you may not get lost or frightened.” Nelly- 
seated herself on her cousin’s knee, and Char- 
lotte commenced her tale. 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


Little Kathleen lived with her old grand* 
mother, on the edge of a vast moor or expanse 
of bog and peat ground. Their cabin was very 
rude, with only a straw pailasse^ a few stools, 
and a high-backed chair for old Nora, as furni- 
ture ; though a stump of a tree, well hewn out, 
was a good enough table ; and a few shelves 
held their wooden bowls and trenchers, with the 
rare delft plates old Nora had owned so many 
years. There was a smooth stone by the cabin 
door, where the old woman sat when the sun 
shone warm ; and as she was almost blind, and 
her hands were lame, she did nothing but sway 
herself back and forth, wailing the low keene 
which seemed to be her funeral cry for all life’s 
good and joy. 

Nora’s daughter, the mother of little Kathleen, 
lived there too, or rather slept there ; for all day 
long she was at the distant hamlet, crying vege- 
tables in the market, or at work away in the 
gi'ounds of Castle Shane. 

She was often gone before Kathlejen arose in 
the morning, with her basket of pulse and 
greens, and sometimes did not return until the 

214 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER 


217 


old woman and child were in a sound slumber 
If old Nora moaned over joys that were gone, it 
was not thus with Honor, her child. 

She never complained. There were few words 
on her tongue ; and she took her basket on her 
head each day, as though it contained all her life 
portion, and her mind was well made up to bear 
its heaviest burden. 

Kathleen could not remember the days when 
her mother nursed and took care of her ; so she 
was well content to bide so lonely by herself. 
There were no neighbors near them, only where 
Lough Neagh glowed in the distance were there 
rude shelters, as if scooped from the earth, anf 
roofed with vegetable beauty. 

Cue day little Kathleen wandered far from 
the cabin, even out of old Nora’s call ; and she 
strayed on until she came to the black bog. 

There were soft green hillocks, like the houses 
over the lough, only so wee and still ; and Kathy 
sat upon them, and played with the blue violets 
she had been gathering. 

But wherx she rose to go away, her foot slipped, 
and she went between the hillocks into the 
slimy bog. Kathy floundered about, and began 
to cry; for she knew that her grandmother could 
not hear, nor could she help her if she heard her 
cries ; so she screamed all the more, because it 
was for naught. 


218 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


While Kathy was in her trouble, she heard a 
low laugh, like the chirrup of a bird ; and looking 
up, she saw a fairish on a reed of one of the hil- 
locks beyond. But little Kathleen did not know 
what it was, for neither Honor nor Nora had 
ever told her of the good people. The fairish was 
dressed in a very short frock of yellowish green, 
woven of texture like the thistle’s down, or bird 
of paradise’s trail, so that its gloss was more like 
fur, or fine plumage, than silk ; and with her 
rushen helmet, her buttons of peacock’s feathers’ 
eyes, her birchen buskins, and her wand of petri- 
fied willow, she had quite the aspect of a little 
huntress. Her twinkling eyes were black, like 
those of a mouse ; her hair was long and fine, 
with a reddish tinge, like that of sunset light, in 
its deep flaxen hue; and her face, her hands, 
arms, and feet were of the clear purplish pink 
that settles beneath the nails when hands are 
cold or death is calling. 

So, with 'that strange mixture in her looks of 
the real and the unreal, of sparkling life and the 
faint tinge of death, it is no marvel that Kath- 
leen was bewildered, as even her mother or 
grandmother might have been. 

But Kathy floundered all the more as the 
olack-eyed fairish gazed upon her; and then, 
with a leap like a cricket, the fairish was on the 
tog beside her, when, taking her hand, it lifted 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


219 


her fjrom the mire, and she was again on the soft 
green hillock. 

Kathy was so glad to be helped out that she 
gave the fairish her soft violets, some bog berries 
she had gathered, and a few smooth petrifactions 
she had picked up on her way; but the little 
green woman said, “ No, I will not have them ; 
only promise me that you will come to-morrow, 
and that no one shall knov/ you have seen me.” 

Kathleen promised, and was soon on her way 
home, with all her new-found treasures. The 
fairish helped her through the bog, and left her in 
the gloaming. But she did not fear now. She 
tripped lightly along ; and when she reached the 
cabin, old Nora had gone to bed, and left only a 
little supper for Kathy. She took the crust and 
lay down also on the straw ; and then she 
thought of the green lady of the bog; of her 
bright eyes and plumaged dress; of her plump 
little hands and feet ; of the long hair that was 
not bound beneath a cap ; and of the queer little 
sandals, like glossy bark. She hoped she should 
find her on the morrow, and fancied what a fine 
time they would have jumping over the peat 
morass, and dancing on the mossy hillocks. 
Her fancies had dissolved in dreams ere Honor 
came and lay down beside her two children, tnc 
old baby and the little girl. 

Next day, Kathy took the potato her mothei 


220 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


gave her, and gnawing it all to the heart, she sel 
out upon her search for the fairish, munching al 
the half-raw core as she went her way. 

She found the fairish waiting by the bog, with 
her lap full of berries, and some mealy roots, 
like sweet, boiled radishes. “ These are for your 
breakfast,” said she; “I have eaten mine;” and 
Kathy was glad to get it, for the potato, even 
with its solid core, was hardly sufficient suste- 
nance. After she had eaten, the fairish said, 
•‘We will find a spring;” and soon they had 
come to a rill of sparkling water. .Then Kath- 
een was refreshed and rested, and all ready for 
the wildest sport. She could not leap into the 
tall ti’ees, nor swing from a high bough back to 
the ground, as the fairish could do, but she could 
jump, and dance, and gambo^, like the lightest 
little childling who ever tried to keep up fellow- 
ship with any one of the good people ; and when 
she was tired or hungry, they were sure to come 
to a clump of berry bushes, or a jet of W'ater, or 
a nest of honey ; and Kathleen never had seen 
such lilies as grew in the recesses of the bog, or 
any flowers like those that were blossoming far 
away in all this fairish’s garden. When the 
noontide sun v/ as hot, Kathy grew sad and faint, 
and “the slape was in her eyes,” said Biddy, 
so the fairish invited her on to a dv.’-aif forest, 
where tlie trees smelled sweet, like thyme and 
hawthorn. 


THL FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


221 


They came at last to a bower, or temple, of 
hewn trees, with living branches left to deck them, 
and creepers over the open spaces showed like 
a thick dark lattice. It was very cool here, and 
would have been gloomy, but that gigantic glow- 
worms hung their soft astrals from the verdant 
roof, and filled the bower with a pleasant bright- 
ness. A little fountain played its sylvan tune 
in the centre, and a high hillock beyond it, for 
their rustic sideboard, was covered with luscious 
fruits and berries. When Kathleen had eaten, 
the fairish asked her of her home and history, 
but she had not much to tell ; and the little 
lancer in green replied, “ Then you do not 
voiow as much as I do, for I can tell you more 
rhan this of yourself.” 

“ Arrah ! and who are you?” asked Kathleen, 
with all simplicity, thinking it but right there 
should be an exchange of confidence between 
them. 

O, no matter for my story nor my name,” 
sh-e answered, with a smile ; “ I am a little bog- 
tndter, whose home is always in the swamp, 
and who will never have a better one to live in.” 

But this is very nice,” said Kathleen. 

^ You could live in a better one, and I could 
not — that is one difference between us; and 
another is, that I could get for you a dozen 
better ones, but you can do little for me.” 


222 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


“ bure, and can I do any thing for you ? 
asked Kathleen. 

“ Yes ; you can come and see me every day, 
and we will play and dance together like birds 
or crickets in the bogs and bashes.’’ 

“ I will come every day, to be sure, until I am 
old enough to go to market with my mother. 
She is waiting long that I should grow large 
and strong, to help her with the baskets.” 

“ I will manage it so that you shall never be 
larger or stronger, and you shall be my little 
Kathleen, my childling, playfellow, always.” 

“ Arrah ! but my mother and the baskets ; she is 
so weary now of feeding me and my old grand- 
mother, for we cannot do any thing for ourselves, 
and mother is always cross and tired.” 

“ I will find your living for you, that is, if you 
can live upon such as this day’s feast. You shall 
have berries, fruits, sweet nuts and roots, honey, 
and aromatic barks and herbs. O, there is 
enough to live on here, and no trouble of the 
pot, or cabin smoke.” 

Sure, and may I carry some to my grand- 
mother ? ” 

“ I will always manage that you shall find 
some berries, or pheasants’ eggs, or tendei 
cresses; but you must never let her know of 
me, or of the gifts I bring to you.” 

Kathleen saw no objection to all this ; ana she 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


22d 


promised the bright-eyed fairish that every day 
she would come and play with her. So, aftei 
this, the two passed the whole of the long sum- 
mer days in their wild play and merry bogtrot- 
tings. Kathleen was very happy, for the fairish 
was always in good humor with her ; and whei 
her mother scolded her, and her grandmother 
complained, she always made her peace with 
them through some nice cresses, eggs, or fruits 
she had brought them from her wanderings. 
Thus they were pacified, and let her live in the 
bog; for she came home always so safel), and 
never forgot their wants and scanty supplies. 

Only one thing troubled her now. It was the 
fear that her grandmother would be sick, or fall 
from the doorway stone in a fit, or something 
would be wanted that she might get or do. 
But when her anxieties were expressed, the little 
bogtrotter laughed and vaulted into a tree, from 
whence her bright eyes could see to and into old 
Nora’s cabin ; and she promised always to^send 
Kathleen home whenever she might be of service 
there. The little girl was very well pleased to 
hear then, and at any other time, that her grand- 
mother was asleep, or crooning some old song; 
but when she found that she was vexed or sick, 
she hastened back to the cabin immediately. 

One day there came a priest to Honor’s house, 
and he said Kathleen must be baptized and 


224 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


come to mass constantly. Old Nora seemed very 
glad, and Honor, as usual, was silent, so, of course, 
said nothing against it. Thus it was agreed 
that she should come the following Sunday. 
Kathleen heard all this, for the fairish sent her 
home when the shovel hat made its appearance 
near the cabin ; and when, the next morning, she 
went to play with the little bogtrotter, she told 
her all of the new plan. Then the fairish seemed 
very much disturbed, and her face was purple 
with rage. 

“ You might have died for all him or them 
tong ago, and been lost, unless I changed you 
to a fairy,” said she, spitefully: “ and now the\ 
»vill baptize you, so that 1 can never see you 
any more I ” 

Sure, but I will come after that, and play in 
the bog every day ! ” replied Kathleen. 

“ You may play, if you like, after the baptism, 
but you cannot play with me ! You cannot see 
me any more ! ” 

Kathy asked if she could not find another 
playfellow as welcome as herself. 

“ No I there is no other like you — so merry 
and confiding. Nor is there, all about, another 
fatherless child who has never been baptized.” 

Kathleen cried, and said she would, not be 
baptized, then — she would rather play with the 
bogtrott-^r. The fairy was right pleased at this, 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


224 


and she went to a hillock, from which she drew 
a necklace of large nuts, whose burnished sur- 
faces were traced with seams, like uncouth cabal- 
istic characters. 

“ You are very good, little Kathleen,” said 
she, “ and have made me oft so merry that I 
should give you something. Wheney^er you are 
in great want or distress, if you crack one of 
these nuts I shall know it, wherever I am, and 
will strive to help you.” She hung the brown 
necklace over the child’s bosom, and then they 
were merry again, till the day was passed, and 
Kathy went home in the gloaming. 

When it was Sunday, Honor brought a new 
printed frock to the child, and a bright handker- 
(hief for her head, and took her to the church, 
away by the market-place. She showed her the 
fine altar, and a large picture of the blessed 
Mother, with her cheek leaned on her baby’s 
head ; and Kathy thought it must be very 
pleasant to be the child of such a mother. There 
was a nun in long black robes, with a white 
cloth bound around her brow and neck, who 
marked her keen, admiring look, and told her 
that by the holy water of baptism she, too, 
might become just such a blessed child, and be 
thus brought into the bosom of that ever-blessed 
Mother. But when the priest came towards 
them to baptize her, Kathy was frightened, and 


226 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


ran away. A nun, who would fain have held 
her, caught hold of the nut-brown necklace, and 
it scorched her hands like a glowing chain of 
fire. She was at last drawn back to the altar ; 
but the priest did not notice her ; he only spoke 
harshly, in the ear of Honor, something which 
made her^weep sullenly. She said nothing to 
Kathleen on her way back, nor when they arrived 
at the cabin ; but the next morning she told 
mother Nora what the priest had said to her, and 
the old woman wailed the loud Keene, as if an 
unshriven soul had departed. 

When Honor had gone to the market, the child 
wandered to her old playground, and there she 
saw the fairish, dancing over the bog like a sun- 
beam on the water. She was very kind, and 
in most excellent spirits ; never was there 
sweeter honey than they found that day, nor 
berries of more tempting flavor. But there was 
something in poor Kathy’s heart that told her it 
was wrong in her to be a baby still, and to do 
nothing all day long but play with a fairy bog- 
ti’otter. 

She was troubled, too, at the remembrance of 
her mother’s tears, and the wild Keene of old 
Nora, because she would not be baptized. 
Perhaps she had been very bad, and even the 
fairish at last might tail her. She kept these 
thoughts to herself, and did not et the wild bog- 


THE FAIRY B0GTR0TT13R. 


227 


trotter know what was in her mind ; and thus, 
all summer long, she played in the meadows 
with the fairish. 

One day old Nora did not get up, and Kath- 
leen staid to watch her. She brought her water, 
and bathed her head and hands, but the slow 
fever would not be abated. She was now quite 
blind, but she drew Kathy to her side, and, 
feeling of her face, the old withered hand fell 
upon the nut necklaee. “ What is this, Kathy ? ” 
she asked. 

Kathy said the nuts came from the bogs, and 
she wore them for good luck. 

“ It is uncannie I ” said the old woman ; “ do 
not wear it any more.” Then she drew her 
closely to her breast, and said, “ You must go to 
the priest and be baptized, and hear the mass, 
and be a good girl to your mother, far better 
than she has been to me.” 

Kathy promised to be kind, and do what good 
she could ; but it was long ere she would 
promise to go to the baptism. 

That night old Nora died; and the wake that 
was held over her body frightened Kathy so that 
she ran away, and was gone when the priest 
came. But Honor told her she must now go to 
church with her, and hear the masses for old 
Nora’s soul. 

“ And will you never be baptized ? ” sobbed 


22S THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 

Honor, “ and never say a mass for me, as [ will 
do for my mother. Sure, is it for my sins that 
you are ever to be a wicked child ? ” 

Kathy cried, and said she would not be 
wicked ; and if her mother would only love her 
like the holy Mother in the picture, she would 
do any thing she wanted. 

Honor’s heart was touched now; she drew 
ner lone and loving child to her heart, and 
pressed sweet kisses on her lips. 

The next day the child wandered, as had been 
her wont, from the now lonelier cabin to tlv 
bog ; but the fairish was in a cloud, and shad 
ows were on all the hillocks. Then she told the 
little bogtrotter how that Nora was dead and 
buried, and her mother was beginning to love 
her, and wished her to be baptized, and that she 
had promised it to please her. 

“ And I have come, darlint, to give you back 
the nut necklace ; for my grandmother said, when 
she was dying, it was uncan nie, and I must not 
wear it.” 

Then the fairish said, “ We will see how 
uncan nie it is ! Do you give it up ? ” 

Kathleen threw it over her head to the fairy, 
as she would have cast aside a yoke of bondage. 
The little bogtrotter took it up, and laid it on a 
large stone. She struck it a fierce blow with her 
wand, and one nut flew open. She drew from 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


229 


it a jewelled ring, and laid it on the stone. She 
struck again, and another flew open, from which 
she drew abundance of shining pearls. Another 
blow opened a third nut, from which was taken 
a veil of most delicate lace. From a fourth was 
drawn a muslin robe, fine as a spider’s web. 
From another the fairy hand drew forth a pair 
of finest silken hose. In another had been a 
watch, like a brilliant gem ; in yet another, a 
silken purse with money filled ; and in another 
was found a mirror, in which Kathleen was asked 
to look. She saw, away down, as in a focus of 
lights and shadows, a beautiful form, with large, 
clear, poet eyes, and hair curling around a noble 
brow, and a small something, like a pen or pen- 
cil, in his hand. She could not gaze long 
enough into the bright reflection, for, while still 
enjoying it, the fairish snatched it away. “The 
nuts are not half cracked,” said she ; “ are you 
willing to trust me for what is in the rest ? ” 
But Kathy’s mind was quite made up to return 
the necklace, and be baptized. She said the 
beautiful robes and gems were not for one like 
her ; and she would rather the drops of baptism 
were on her brow than any fairy pearls. 

The fairish touched the necklace with her 
wand, and the nuts reclosed again, inclasping 
their treasures. She laid it over Kathleen’s neck, 
and said, “ You will 'vvear it yet a while, for good 


230 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 


luck. You know I cannot harm you with the 
necklace on your bosom.” 

“ Surely, you will never harm the like of me,’- 
Kathy replied to her; “ we have played so merrily 
together, and I have loved you. Only the love 
of the holy Mother for all who come to her can 
be better than your love has been to me.” 

“ Then you may seek her love in welcome, 
and for the future haunt St. Columb’s Well for 
luck and weel,” the bogtrotter said, angrily, 
snatching again the necklace ; and, leaping 
from hillock to hillock, she was soon lost in the 
gloaming. 

After this, Kathleen was baptized, and went to 
hear the masses said and sung ; and she prayed 
to the holy Mother to love her and make her 
good, like all her other children. 

From this time Honor grew more gentle and 
motherly; and Kathleen went often with her 
mother to market and to mass. 

One holiday, she wandered to the bog; but the 
fairy bogtrotter was no more visible, only she 
thought she heard a spiteful laugh in the thicket, 
where the bower was wont to be. Kathy did not 
fear this spite ; she was now a child baptized, 
and could go and kneel upon old Nora’s graver 
which was better for a young maid than any 
fairy bower could be. 

After this, it was her only pleasure, her sole 


THE FAIRY BOGTROTTER. 2*Si 

recreation, to gaze upon the holy Mother, in the 
altar picture ; and the story says that she grew up 
to look almost like the artist’s sweet Madonna ; 
at least an artist thought so, who came to kneel 
at the chancel one day, and who thought he 
never had seen an expression before like that 
which dwelt in the face of Kathleen, the market 
girl of Lough Neagh. When her devotions 
were ended, she looked up and saw the same 
face bent on her that she had once admired in 
the bogtrotter’s mirror. 

There was in both a feeling as though they 
had known each other, and she was not flustered 
when the artist came and begged leave to draw 
her portrait for a gi’eat picture he was painting. 
Kathleen was willing ; but ere the picture was 
done, he threw across its female face a sunny 
shade of joy ; he robed it in a bridal dress of fairy 
beauty, and looped back the rich tresses with a 
bandeau of shining pearls. 

“ Kathy,” said he, — and he held towards her 
a brilliant ring, like that she had seen but once 
before, — “ may I place this in betrothal upon 
your finger?” And he whispered low, “Will 
you not be my bride, the dear original of my 
great life picture?” 


232 


EVENING ELEVENTH. 


“Dear little Kathy,” exclaimed E\a, as she 
took up the drawing. 

“ And for how much of this are we to return 
a vote of thanks to Biddie? and for what be- 
sides clerkship are we to be grateful to you?” 
asked Ben. 

“ For all you like best I will resign the thanks 
to Biddie. But as I am not obliged to testify 
against myself, I shall not tell you what was 
lost, because I could not understand or retain the 
beautiful pathos which was poured out in a fairy 
brogue I could not interpret. It was like music 
in a foreign tongue ; we receive its spirit, though 
w^e cannot reproduce its words.” 

“ But what did she mean by the ‘ core of the 
potato?’ Was it a fairy paratie, like an apple, 
with seeds, or like a plum, with a stone in it?” 

“ I asked Biddie, and she told me that the 
poor children, who can have but one potato for 
a meal, do not have that but half cooked, that it 
may remain longer as food in their stomachs — 
that it may sustain them while it is so slowly 
digesting.” 

“ Poor little children,” said Eva ; “ when they 
ask for bread, to give them a stone ! ” 

“ But what is a fairish ?” said Katie. 

“ O, that is only the Irish term for a fairy.” 

“ And are the fairies the good people?” per 
sisted Ellen. 


EVENING ELEVENTH. 


23:^ 


“ Sc the Irish think, or, at least, so they call 
them.” 

“ And did Biddie say that Honor was cross to 
Kathy?” 

“ I cannot repeat the tender way in which she 
spoke, both of Honor and her child ; but she did 
not represent her as faultless.” 

“We will never call the little Irish children 
paddies^ nor be sorry to have them come here 
where there is enough for them to eat,” said 
Ellen. 

“ Without resorting to fairy fodder,” said Ben. 
"Well, Lottie, you got finely through that bog; 
and now we must bid good night to our dear 
ittle bogles.” * 


CnBEing CniHftl). 

l^HiL joined the centre table party, looking very 
well satisfied with the “ welcome ” he brought 
in his pocket; and the older ones, who had read 
the Waverley novels and Wilson’s “ Lights and 
Shadows,” and were, of course, very fond of 
Scotch literature, had formed great expectations. 

Ellen and Katie had grown more philosophi- 
cal, and became of Ben’s opinion that it was 
not best to mar the evenings, as they came, with 
thoughts that they must pass away, and would 
never come again. 

“We shall have some better ones, as likely as 
not, and with better stories in them, too,” added 
the hopeful comforter. 

“ But when?” 

“ When ? O, when we all get together next 
year. I shall think of something, myself, a great 
deal better than what I have told you now, and 
no doubt the others will improved 

“ I fear that we are past improvement,” said 
their father, with a glance over his shoulder, from 
the whirligig chair, at his wife. 

“ Then we will excuse you, sir, and you. 
madam, and all who are fixed in an unprogres- 

234 


EVENING TWELFTH. 


235 


she position. Excelsior is the motto for the 
juveniles; and those who canjjot improve will 
be very likely to be found in a backslider’s posi- 
tion, and to be even so far down that it will take 
more than a fairy bogtrotter to lift them to light, 
and to the verdant earth again.” - 
“ But have we no room for Aleck ? ” 

“ Aleck is shy, and wont come in. He says 
his shirt sleeves are soiled, and his boots smell 
of the stables.” 

“ Smell of these tables,” said Ben ; “ and so 
have we all, for the last fortnight.” 

“ More than of the Alexandrian library, evea,’^ 
Raid Phil, rapping for silence. 


LOCH AND LINN. 


Not far from the wild shore, where the waves 
beat back and forth between Iona and the main- 
land of auld Scotia, there lived, many years ago, 
two lairds, who, from being the best of friends, 
becai.ie the best of foes ; that is, if there are 
such Ihings as good haters. The war waged 
between them descended to their children, and 
extended to all in their respective clans. They 
did great mischief to each other ; and at times, 
there was want, like famine, in their castles. 
Tneir wives died of dread and watching ; and, at 
last, the children of each fierce laird had passed 
away before him ; all but the youngest of the 
elder foe, and her mate in the rival castle, who 
had not been the youngest of her household 
band. 

Like the fabled cats who had eaten all of 
each other but their tails, these foes had now 
destroyed much of what was dearest to each 
other ; and last of all, the chieftains died also ; 
one of a never- healed wound, the other of fever 
brought on by anxiety and chagrin. 

These two surviving girls were now under the 
king’s guardianship; and looking upon their 

336 


LOCH AND LINN. 


239 


land, perhaps, if not on them, as “ treasure trove,” 
he had them taken from their homes and placed 
in a convent to be educated. But the efforts of 
the good nuns, and of the lady abbess, to induce 
them to take the veil, and retire from a world 
which should be as a mournful sepulchre to each 
of them, were all in vain. The ladies grew up, 
strong and fair, not loving each other, but keep- 
ing all dislike in good subjection ; and each 
determined to return in good time to her own 
castle, to manage her cause there as she saw fit. 
It was a long waiting before permission was 
received from the king for the two ladies to 
repossess their fiefs; and many were the re- 
proaches of the good religieuses at their vain 
hankerings for wealth and worldly honor. 

Isabel went to her tower on the steepled rock, 
where the wild torrent, that fell from the high- 
land fastnesses, gave its name to her estate ; 
and she was known as Isabel of the Linn. 
Margaret retired to her castle by the placid lake, 
where she, in the same manner, was designated 
as the Lady of the Loch. 

Two ladies, so young, so beautiful, so gay, 
could not be overlooked ; and even to the court 
were borne their praises, from both Loch and 
Linn. Both Margaret and Isabel were invited 
to the palace; but, either they distrusted the 
good intentions of the king, or were too well 


240 


LOCH AND LINN. 


satisfied witli their briefly-exercised authority tc 
resign it at once. They sent their excuses, by a 
true herald, to their sovereign guardian, and 
expressed great willingness to do all the honors 
of their poor household, provided the king, or any 
of his retainers, would come and be their guests. 

The king had a young friend, — some said he 
was a brother, — whom he wished to introduce to 
the heiresses of his kingdom ; and as the two 
estates of Loch and Linn had not reverted to him, 
he felt bound to secure them to this Marquis. 

So, with streaming pennons and blazing ban- 
ners, the royal' suite went forth, from Holyrood, 
away through the Highlands, to visit these noble 
ladies of Loch and Linn. 

The Lady Margaret was a clear brunette, with 
a hazel eye and peach-bloom cheek ; her form was 
round, and finely moulded; her expression viva- 
cious, and her mood usually a merry one. The 
castle at the loch was flanked by green mead- 
ows, well browsed by many kine ; and her retain- 
ers looked as though they would do all honor 
to a loved and lovely lady. 

The Lady Isabel was of a stately height, like 
her own strong tower; her eye was blue and 
clear, like her father’s shield ; and her skin as 
fair as the snow that lingered first in the moun- 
tain recess of the Linn. 

She was a cold, proud lady ; but no prouder 


LOCH AND LINN. 


241 


of herself than were her hardy rnountahieers of 
their young mistress ; and the love she showed 
to them proved that there were warm places in 
her heart. 

When the king and his young friend the Mar- 
quis arrived at these Highlands, they paid their 
court first to Lady Isabel. This preference 
gratified her so much that she appeared unusu- 
ally amiable ; and a more gentle hostess, or more 
gallant guests, it would have been hard to find, 
in all the island, than gathered at the Linn. 

Hunting and 'hawking were among the chief 
amusements, at which the Lady Isabel, on her 
snowy charger, proved her noble blood in all her 
bearing; and the forrays often made into the 
domains of Lady Margaret let light into the 
monarch’s brain respecting the causes of many 
gone-past feuds. His presence now averted all 
disturbance ; but he saw where there must have 
been much reason for complaint. 

“ The fault lies all in this,” said he to the 
Marquis ; “ the Loch and Linn should ever have 
been one. They should wed together now, as 
do their waters at our feet. It is a pity that one 
of those fighting lairds had not left a son. I 
would have wedded him to the daughter of the 
other, and would have sent his good sister to the 
convent, whether she said ‘ Ay ’ to my lady 
abbess, or ‘ Nay.’ ” 


LOCH ANJJ LiNN. 


Tlie Marquis mused a while, and then replied, 
that it was a pity, as the king’s plan would have 
been so good, that it could not be thus arranged ; 
and then he studied a while, as though he -would 
fain find a better one. 

After a dance, that eve, with the stately IsabeL 
to the sound of merry bagpipes in the old stone 
hall, he took the king aside, and said that he had 
akeady made up his mind which of the ladies to 
choose ; and without seeing Lady Margaret, he 
would pledge himself to Lady Isabel. 

The king disapproved of this so much that 
he absolutely forbade him. He told him Lady 
Margaret was richer and more beautiful ; her 
fiiastle by the lake was worth two of that High- 
ahd tower at the linn ; and that she was equal- 
ly witty, learned, and graceful. 

He told him of the fish in the loch, the game 
in the forests, and the loaded wains at her Har- 
vest Home. The Marquis, of course, refrained 
from pledging himself; but he left the Lady Isa- 
bel’s tower with those subtle signs that ladies 
know presage a sure return. 

If Lady Margaret had been offended that her 
rival’s opportunities had had precedence of her 
own, the offence was quite concealed, or passed 
away. She was all smile and bloom, like an 
orient sky, and the rich plenitude of her castle 
contrasted strongly with the strict economv of 


LOCH AND LINN. 


243 


Lady Isabel. On her slight chestnut barb she 
Zed the way around the lake, through ravine and 
dell, starting the deer and following down the 
white hare ; her boats, upon the waters, glided 
under purple mountain shadows, to the sound 
of flutes blending with the dripping oars ; and at 
eve the. minstrel touched his harp to its merriest 
strains, as the Marquis led the dance with their 
dark-eyed lady. He was so absorbed in pleasure 
and rapt in admiration, that the king could not 
refrain from reminding him of a once foolish 
resolution. 

“See,” said the monarch, “the lady whom 
fate has left for you. And, were it not for mj 
gold-haired queen, I would e’en wed her myself 
and be mine the placid lake.” 

But the Marquis seemed not to swerve from 
his allegiance to the Lady of the Linn, though 
it must have been that his feelings were deeply 
interested in Margaret of the Loch ; for, though 
he danced, sailed, sung, rode, walked, and talked 
with the more rosy beauty, though he seemed 
never so happy as when at her side, though 
it was very evident he did not mean to leave 
a slight impression upon her heart, though it 
was plain he wooed, it seemed equally certain 
he never meant to wed. 

But he abandoned himself to the pleasure of 
her society ; and because the days were not to 


244 


LOCH AND LINN 


last, he pressed the more of life into them. I^adj 
Margaret must have felt misgivings that, in the 
end, she was not to outrival the Lady of the Linn. 
Neither did she doubt the power of her own fresh 
charms, the attractions of her loch and castle, nor 
the influence of the king. 

She only doubted the power of a noble lord to 
break his knightly troth ; and she feared his pledge 
was given to Isabel, the Lily of the Linn. 

Yet was it not unknightly faith to come to 
her, to abandon himself so long to her smiles and 
blandishments, to conceal his troth, to love and 
make himself beloved of her? 

But her proud heart said, “ He shall not see he 
is more to me than any other guest.” 

The king had returned to his palace at Holy- 
rood, the royal retinue had scattered abroad, the 
snows of winter had succeeded to the dark rains 
of autumn, but still the Marquis lingered beside 
the Lady Margaret, his Highland Rose, as she 
now was often called, while her pale rival bore 
the equally sweet title of the Highland Lily. 

During all this time, the surmises were many 
and confused, among the retainers, as to which 
of the beauties would rivet her love charms 
on the noble lord. Both loved him — that was 
not doubted ; nor did any one wonder at this 
who saw the gallant Marquis, and the proud 
escutcheon that he bore. His suit would be 


LOCH AND LINN. 


24t 


favored by either, unless he should neglect to 
press and complete it too long. This seemed 
now to be the danger ; but it was averted by the 
king, who sent his royal mandate to the knight, 
bidding him return, and his paternal request to 
the two ladies, inviting them to a royal fete at 
Holyrood. 

They were there ; and Margaret and Isabel for 
the first time together faced their noble lover. 
Right princely were his courtesies, both to the 
Lily and -the Rose ; and when requested by the 
king to take his harp for a minstpe; favor, he 
sang the following ballad, with a mild, sweet 
grace that reached to every heart. But it most 
deeply penetrated the bosoms of the ladies of the 
Loch and Linn. 

THE HIGHLAND ROSE AND LILY 

Auld Earth ha’ raony a floweret fair, ' - > 

An ilka tree its blossom, 

Wi’ fragi'ance and wi’ beauty rare, 

Starred thick upon her bosom. 

She lo’es to ho’d the hawthorn up, 

Thro’ a’ the scented mornin ; 

She lo’es to hide the vi’let’s cup 
Her bosom sweet adornin. 

She flaunts the lilac i’ her snood, 

Like a proud, weel-plumed ladie • 

The vine curls ringlets in her hoow, 

Amid the corn’s saft bradie. 


LOCH AND LINN- 


{she hangs braw eardraps for her gems, 
Like savage deckit lassies ; 

Her kirtle, for its fringed hems, 

Bears a’ the bloorain grasses. 

The daisy weaves her kerchief fair 
Wi’ eyelets thick embroider ; 

The blue heath, wi’ its stem so sptare, 
Her vestures Kindly border. 

The cowslip an the buttercup, 

Their gowden een upshinin, 

Are bound wi’ clover blossoms up, 

An berry blooms entwinin. 

She hangs the orange groves wi’ bJoomu 
Syne thick for bride an vestal 5 

She gi’es a’ flowers the rich perfume 
We ravish for the festal. 

But best i’ a’ her queenly wreath 
The royal rose surpasses ; 

For grace, for hue, for form, for breata, 
She shines o’er lawns an mosses. 

She kens na peer in a’ the land ; 

Her rival i’ the water. 

The lily, swayed by naiad wand, 

The loch’s ain bonnie dochter ; — 

Her bell the temple pure may shine 
O’ some sweet vestal fairie. 

Where incense, frae its gowden shrine, 
Burns sweet through a’ the airie. 

Her braid leaves, i’ the silver sheen, 

O’ waters calmly sleepin, 

An auld mosaic might ha’ been 
For dancin sprites light leapin 


loch/tC'nd linn. 2 t7 

Her sliinin calyx, red and green, 

Gleams white at ilka partin, 

Like marble, thro’ some fluted screen^ 

Its curved scrolls gently startin. 

’Tis sich the water lifts abune, 

Out frae its mossie beddin ; 

Nor will we find its peerie sune 
For tryste, for fair, or weddin. 

There was silence for many moments after 
the echoes of the impromptu ceased, and then 
there were many eyes in that royal train who 
saw the Lady Isabel rallied and the Lady 
Margaret drooped, as they each listened to the 
minstrel fantasy of the Marquis. True, it was 
not explicit. “The loch’s ain bonnie dochter” 
might not o’erpower “the royal rose,” but it 
seemed as though this were the intimation. 
Each lady had received a most delicate com- 
pliment; each should at least appear grateful, 
and not too anxious. 

The Marquis saw that neither of them was 
neglected ; the king was most considerate ; and, 
after a gay visit, each was ■ free to return to her 
own domain. 

Some marvelled slightly when, a few months 
after, the Highlanders at the Linn met for a 
wedding feast, and the king’s benison was asked 
and granted, as the Marquis and Lady Isabel 
were made one. The Lady Margaret sat in hei 


LOOH AND LINN. 


bower stifling her wrath, and wondering at the 
ring which, while at Holyrood, had found its 
mysterious way to her casket, and which she 
always attributed to the Marquis, for upon it 
was inscribed the motto, “ My love abides for- 
ever.” These also were the words embroidered 
by Lady Isabel upon her new lord’s newest ban- 
neret ; and Lady Margaret wondered at this 
coincidence. 

But, while she shut herself up within her 
bower, concealing her chagrin and disappoint- 
ment as best she might, she saw from her lonely 
window the snow-white banneret fluttering in 
the mountain breeze, and upon its folds that 
roseate blazonry, in mockery, at least, of one 
fond heart, “ My love abides forever.” 

In time, the Rose of the Loch might have 
recovered her serenity, and forgotten the troubler 
of her peace. But even to her secluded bower 
came words of dread, that were also — she 
trembled to feel it — words of hope. The Lily 
of the Linn was passing away, like a snow- 
wreath in the troubled waters. No one knew 
how it was, but she came to be like the faint 
shadow of her bridal self ; and then the minstrel 
harp was tuned to wailing, for Isabel, their lady, 
was now white with the pallor of death, and the 
pale Lily of the Linn might open an eye upon 
its waters nevermore. 


LOCH AND LINN. 


249 


The widowed Marquis received condolence 
and sympathy from the king; and a royal herald 
came confirming all his marital rights. For a 
while his escutcheon was shrouded in black ; 
and then the period of mourning was cut short ; 
for, around the loch, and through the glens, 
might be traced the streaming of that motto on 
the winds, ‘‘ My love abides forever.” 

The Lady Margaret looked from “ her high 
window,” and saw the banner, the horse, and his 
rider ; and a new hope was born of the old one 
that had been so buried in her heart. It needed 
few pleadings to obtain for the Lord Marquis 
access to her bower ; and then, with those cheat- 
ing words that do not cheat, those protestations 
of love that are not half believed, he made his 
peace. True, he alluded to a wrong done her, 
out also to a position where the heart is despot, 
and will choose its love ; while yet the knightly 
faith is pledged, and must not be forsworn, 
though the knight himself be the greatest suf- 
ferer. He told, also, of the severe punishment 
endured for his involuntary sin. These self- 
inflicted penances have great value ; and the 
Lady Margaret so appreciated the sufferings of 
the Marquis, that she forgave him all, and prom- 
ised to become his bride. 

These tidings were received with sad forebod 
ings by all the clansmen of the Loch and Linn 
15 


250 


LOCH AND LINN. 


They prophesied many woes upon the fickle 
laird, who should so soon forget the lily’s light 
ill the deep hues of the blushing rose ; and they 
boded no good, but haply ill, from the strange 
coming union of Loch and Linn. 

When the tidings were openly proclaimed, 
and orders sent with preparations for bridal feast 
and wassail, the old servants at the tower said 
it might be well that the Marquis was now at 
Holyrood, or it might be ill, for the falling 
Linn moaned with most fearful, dirge-like 
music in the day, and all night long. Low 
whisperings of the wailing Linn came even tf 
the Lady Margaret’s ears ; but why should shd 
heed them, who was so busy with her bridaj 
trousseau^ and the rich silks and laces just coming 
in from France ? The Linn might wail, if so it 
pleased the old tower clansmen to interpret its 
echoes ; that would not prevent her bridal barge 
from skimming o’er the loch ; and the time had, 
in truth, come, when the clansmen of the heights 
might mourn, for now were they indeed to be 
subject to their old enemies. 

There was a strange sense of pride in the new 
power that was transferring to the I^ady of the 
Loch, and a wrong wish that her dead rival 
could look from her tomb, and see the waters 
of Loch and Linn mingling in one tide above 
her resting-place. 


LOCH AND .LINN. 


251 


The Marquis had returned with a gay brow, 
and a step that proclaimed him laird of all the 
Highlands round, to his tow'er at the Linn. He 
did not rest there long, for the Lady Margaret, 
with all her bridal train, was waiting for him at 
her castle. There were gay knights from Holy> 
rood, and some from France, ’twas said, with 
troubadours and minnesingers from afar. The 
jest and wine passed round ; loud wassail filled 
the hall ; but though the bride was very fair, and 
her riches seemed so great, there was a shadow, 
as of a funeral pall, upon the Marquis’s heart. ' 
He strove to be of good cheer, but his brow was 
very pale, and his chestnut locks were damp 
with other dews than those of night, or of a 
dancer’s weariness. Lady Margaret had never 
been more splendid in her brilliance ; even the 
bridegroom’s dread had no echo in the bosom ot 
the bride. 

At length the tedious courtesies were over; 
rhe guests departed, and the loving twain had 
entered their bridal bower. 

Little could they have enjoyed therein. No 
one knows what they there suffered ; for, ere the 
morning dawned, the linn came tumbling fiercely 
from its fastnesses, and the loch was overflowed. 
Most of the servants and clansmen saved their^ 
lives ; and boats were brought by faithful servi- 
tors for the new laird and their well-loved lady 


252 


EVENING TWELFTH. 


But they never appeared at door, bastion, win- 
dow, or battlement ; and when old Nurse Bessie 
clambered through the rent staircase to their 
chamber, she returned dumb with terror. Even 
in after times it almost renewed her hysteric fears 
to recall the terrible features of the dead Isabel, 
as she rose from the waters of the linn, and 
wound her misty arms, and spread her pall of 
spray, over the two lovers, while they lay in a 
fearful embrace, with their glazed eyes fixed on 
her, and their stony hands upraised in prayer. 

When the toiTents had subsided, the dead 
bodies were found, and placed in one grave, 
where their overthrown chapel but late had 
been. The king placed a white monument over 
them ; and through the earth a fountain bubbled 
up, whose rise and fall told that its source was 
far away in the fastness of the linn. The monu- 
ment is still there, but all too moss grown for 
the tourist’s eye ; for the fountain still weeps 
over it, with a wail like that of a woman ; and 
none has ever ventured since to unite tl^e rem- 
nants of what is left at the Loch and at the^fhn. 


“ And for what proportion of this are we to 
go in a body and express our thanks to Aleck?” 
asked Sophy. 


EVENING TWELFTH. 


253 


“To Aleck be all the praise,” returned Phil. 
“ But, Sophy, if you wish to thank him, you must 
go up two flights of stairs, into a certain snug 
little attic; for I opine that Aleck is in the position 
now in which Lady Isabel found her recreant lov- 
er, when she came to take vengeance upon him.” 

“ Only minus the sweet rose he held to his 
breast,” said Ben ; “ and which the ruthless lady 
more than ‘ washed in a shower.’ But what a 
memory or what a fancy our Sandy must have ! 
If Phil could tack two rhymes together, I should 
suspect him of the poetry; for after all, how can 
we be sure that it is good Scotch lingo ?” 

“ If you will acknowledge it to be good poetry^ 
of any kind or kin, I will feel much obliged,” re- 
torted Phil. 

“ I did .not like it,” said Katie, “ because I 
could not understand it.” 

“ You would like to have it translated into 
good English,” said Lottie. “Well, I will try to 
oblige you, for I know how unpleasant it must 
be to listen to the jargon of an unknown tongue.” 

“This earth hath many a floweret fair, 

And every tree its blossom.” 

“ Hold,” said Phil ; “ ilka has more the signifi 
cance of each than of everyP 

“ This earth hath many a floweret fair, 

And each tree its blossom,” 


254 


EVENING TWELFTH. 


“ Hold your peace, and let the rhymes go as 
they are. If Ellen and Katie will read them 
over attentively, they will get every word of the 
sense.” 

“ No doubt of that,” said Ben ; “ and for the 
nonsense, let it remain in the mysterious Scotch 
mantle in which Phil has enveloped it.” 

“ But, Ellen and Katie, have you no garlands 
to crown us, now that our tasks have been so 
successfully accomplished ? ” 

“ You must have some real laurel for Phil, the 
poet,” said Ben. “ Your shams will not answer in 
return for such stern verities as his Scotch verses.” 

“ Phil shall have a laurel crown, and you, too, 
dear Ben, a garland of bay, for your fine Clerk 
of the Weather, whom we think of every day,” 
said Sophy, smiling. 

“ And we will find some good publisher, to 
whom we will offer our stories, with the draw- 
ings that have been suggested by them ; and it 
may be that other children will be permitted to 
enjoy, at second hand, the narratives prepared 
for you,” added their uncle. 

“ And hope for them some better fate than 
once befell a certain Alexandrian library,” said 
Ben, who seemed very desirous to have the las 
word. 

“ And what shall we call our bock?” 

“ The Fireside P’ay,” said Eva. 


EVENING TWELFTH. 


255 


“ There is a work announced, called ‘ Fireside 
Fairies so that will not do.” 

“ The Ingle Imp,” said Ben. 

“ A good title for your own work, when you, 
too, shall come forth with Recollections of my 
Childhoodf answered Phil. 

“ Cottage Stories,” interposed their father. 

“ What a homespun name ! ” said unci 3 
Charles ; “ but it will suit the parents.” 

“ Happy Hours,” said Sophy. 

“ Why not,” said aunt Mary, “ unite the last 
two ? and then it may be both young and old will 
be satisfied with the title page.” 

“ And, while we are together, let us make 
some arrangements for next year’s stories,” said 
their uncle. “ I do not like to be called upon for 
impromptus.” 

“ What!” said Ben, “ shall we give out parts ? 
That is too much like school compositions.” 

“ No ; there need be no obligation to follow 
out the suggestion of our theme distributers. 
Who shall they be ? ” • 

“Father and mother!” “Aunt and uncle!” 
“ It is a unanimous vote.” 

“ What shall Phil write ? ” 

“ I beg your pardons, all ; but mine is com- 
riienced — The Magic Cord.” 

“ What was magical about it ? ” 

“ It would never break ” 


256 


EVENING TWELFTH. 


“Hang it!” said Ron. “No excuse mo. J 
mean hang with it.” 

“ Ben is a chatterbox ; he shall write the his 
lory of a Talking Sixpence.” 

“ Shall it be history or autobiography ? ex- 
postulation and recrimination, or narration and 
argumentation?” 

“ All or either, as you please.” 

“And Fred?” 

“ Mine is begun, of The Wonderful Shoes.” 

“ Why wonderful ? ” 

“ They never went the wrong way.” 

“ Better than seven-league boots, for our 
traders, politicians, and soldiers.” 

“And Lottie?” 

“ The Borbualian Princess and hep twelve 
Fairylettes.” 

“ Eva’s is written, and aunt’s, and mother’s. 
Father must recall some more legends ; and uncle 
some more medical wonders.” 

“But Sophy?” 

“ The Silent Palace.” 

“ Where can she get an idea of such a place ^ 
— at a Quaker meeting?” 

“ And we will have them all copied and ar- 
ranged, as a Gift for our Friends^ by the New 
Year’s Day.” 


and old methods are not the easiest by far. Many people travel 
them because they have not tried the better way. It is a relict 
from a sort of slavery to break away from old-fashioned methods 
and adopt the labor-saving and strength-sparing inventions of 
modern times. Get out of old ruts and into new ways by using ^ 
cake of SAPOLIO in your house-cleaning. 10c. a cake. 



GRAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT 


Received First Medal of Merit and D i - 
g ^oma of Honor at the Cen te nnial Exh i- 
oition, 1 876. 


First Prize Diploma of Honor and Hon- 
orable Mention and a Diploma of Special 
Excellenc e for Baby Grands at the Mon- 
treal Exhibition, 1 88 1 . 

A.i*o i>referredL T>y leiniiiig 


SOHMER 

Manufacturers, 149 to 155 FOUBTIENTH STElETpN. Y. 




EVER mVENTED- 


Ho Lady, Married or 
Single, or Poor, 

Housekeeping or Hoard.-* 
ing, will be without it 
after testing its utility. 

Soid by all first-class 
Grocers, but beware o^.‘ 
worthless imitations- 




THB PREMIUM RUBBER LIREN MARME 


The fastest Selling Goods in the world, becanse we give •'. 
Tizibher Initial S>amp, bottle of Genuine Indelible Ink, Pad^ 
and Folding SUd-i Cover Box^ with neat Lithot.rajyh Labe \ 
either size for 10 cts., post paid. Per Gross, S'?. 30 — Som ;■ 
agents are making $40 per day. We make the Domestic 
Type Writer, $1.00 @ $3.00. Send at once and Secure a County. 
HOWARD S. IMGERSOLL, Inventor and L'an’f’r, 153 & 155 Fulton St., H.l , 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY. 

AHEAD OF ALL COMPETITORS. 


The improvements being constantly made in “ Loveirs IJbrary,’’ have plnced it 
in the Front Rank of cheap publications in this counLry, The publishers propose to 
still further improve the series by having 

BETTER JPATER^ 

BETTER BRIIVTIIVO, 

EARdER TYBE, 

and more attractive cover than any series in the market. 


SEE WEC-A-T IS S^IZD OE IE : 

The following extract from a letter recently received shows llio appre- 
ciation in which the Library is held by those who most constantly lead it : 

“Mkiicantile LibkakV, 
“Baltimore, August 29, lbb3. J 

you kindly send me two copies of your latest list? I am glad to see that 
you now issue a volume every day. Your Library we find greatly preferable to the 
‘Seaside' and ‘Franklin Square’ Series, and even better than the 12nio. form of the 
latter, the page being of better shape, the lines better leaded, and the words betttr 
spaced. Altogether your series is mucli more in favor with our subscribers tlian citl'cr 
of its rivals. S. G. DO^^ALDSON, Assistant Librarian.’’ 


JOHN W. LOTELI. CO., Publishers, 

14: <Sz; IG ‘Vese;w StiX'ee-t, I!Sre~^:A7- 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY ADVERTISER. 


TTrsT :e=’xjbi-.isi3:eid. 

VICE VERSA; 

Oi; A LESSON TO FATHERS. 

By F. ANSTEY. 

1 y<k., ISmo., cloth gilt, $1.00: 1 vol., 12mo., paper, 50 cents; also in Lovell’s 

Library . No. 30, 20 cents. 

EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES BY THE PRESS. 

THE SATURDAY REVIEW.—" If there ever was a book made up from 
beginning to end of laughter, yet not a comic book, or a ‘merry’ book, or a 
book of jokes, or a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a tomfool book, ont a 
perfectly sober and serious book, in the reading of which a sober man may 
laugh without shame from beginning to end, it is the book called ‘Vice 
Versa; or. a Lesson to Fathers.’ . ..We close the book, recommending it 
very earnestly to all fathers, in the first instance, and their sons, nephews, 
uncles, and male cousins next.” 

THE PALL MALL GAZETTE.^-” ‘Vice VersS ' is one of the most 
diverting books that we have read fer many a day. It is equally calculated to 
amuse the August idler, and to keep up the spirits of those who stay in town 

and work, while others are holiday making The book is singularly well 

written, graphic, terse, and full of nerve. The school-boy conversations are 
to the life, and every scene is brisk and well considered.” 

THE ATHENAEUM.—” The whole story is told with delightful drollery 
and spirit, and there is not a dull page in the volume. It should be added that 
Mr.Anstey writes well, and in a style admirably suited to his amusing subject ’ 

THE SPECTATOR.—” Mr. Anstey deserves the thanks of everybody for 1 

showing that there ia still a little fun left in this world It is long t'.nce we 

read anything more truly humorous We must admit that we have not 

laughed so heartily over anything for some years bac.x as we have over this 
‘ Lesson for Fathers.’ ” 

THE ACADEMY.—” It is certainly the beet book of its kind that has ap- 
peared for a long time, and in the way of provoking laughter by certain oln- 
fashioaed means, which do not involve satire or sarcasm, it has few rivals.” 

THE WORLD.—” The idea of a father and son exchanging their identity 
has suggested itself to many minds before now. It is illuftrated in this book 

with surprising freshness, originality and force 7 he book is more than 

wildly comic and amusing; it is in parts exceedingly pathetic ” 

THE COURT JOUknAl.—” The story is told with so much wit and 
gayety that we cannot be deceived in our impression of the future career of F. 
Anstey being destined to attain the greatest success among the most popular 
authors of the day.” 

VANITY PAla.— ‘‘The book is. In our opinion, the drollest work ever 
written in the English language.” 

TRUTH.—” Mr. Anstey has done an exceedingly difficult thing so admira- 
bly and artfully as to conceal its difficulties. Haven’t for years read so irresist- 
ibly homorous a book.” 


NEW YORK; 

JOKIY W. LOVELL CO., 14 and 16 Vesey Street. 


ii 


BKAIU AlTD-mVE FOOD 



Vitalized Phos-phites, 


COMPOSED OF THE NERVE-GIVING PRINCIPLES OP 
THE OX-BRAIN AND WHEAT-GERM. 


It restores the energy lost by Nervousness or Indigestion; relieve 
Lassitude and Neuralgia ; refreshes the nerves tired by worry, excite 
ment, or excessive brain fatigue ; strengthens a failing memory, an 


gives renewed vigor in all diseases of Nervous Exhaustion or Debility 
It is the only PREVENTIVE FOR CONSUMPTION. 


It aids wonderfully in the mental and, bodily growth of infants an 
children. Under its use the teeth come easier » the hones grow better, the ski 
plumper and smoother; the brain acquires more readily, and rests and sleej. 
more smetly. An ill- fed brain learns no lessom, and is excusable yfpeemsl 
It gives a happier and better chUdhood, 


** It is with the utmost confidence that I recommend this excellent pw 
paration for the relief of indigestion and for general debility; nay, I domoi 
than recommend, 1 really urge all invalids to put it to the test, for in se^ 
eral cases personally known to me signal benefits have been derived froi 
its use. 1 have recently watched its effects on a young friend who ha 
suffered from indigestion all her life. After taking the Vitalized Phoj 
PHITES for a fortnight she said to me; ‘ I feel another person; it is a pleai 
ure to live.* Many hard-working men and women — especially those engage 
in brain work — would be saved from the fatal resort to chloral and otne 


destructive stimulanta« if they would have recourse to a remedy so simp] 
and so efiicacioua.” 


Emily FArmFULi*. 


Physicians have prescribed over 600,000 Packages because the 
KNOW ITS Composition, that it is not a secret remedy, and 

THAT THE FORMULA IS PRINTED ON EVERY t.au«T. 

For Sale tsy DmsTMlsta or by lUfall, ^x. 


F. CROSBY CO., 56 West 25th Street 


s 



I 





4 

» 

% 


/ 


4 

V 


I 

f 


y 


• f , . 


• * i i 







* • 



* 



< • 
/ 


^ ' , 


% 




/ ' 

1 “ 

\ 

t 


% 


i 


I 


% ^ 


• . i • I* 

•V ■ ''■■ 




■«.vC s ^ 


^ r 


\ • 




' ' ; M . j , 


V • ' ' ' ,V v;r\ 

• • i * 'V-^. ' ‘ 


' r. V 

. I 0 kl 


i« 


•»* • ^ 




t 



< 


I 

\ 


J t* 


9 

t) . 


' • ^ '^ '. *• ^ 




•. ';i \ 



\ 


A 


9 




/ 


•)* 





\> K 


I 



« rtJ 


0 





\ 


\ 


V.1 






» i 

i 


I 

1 


0 


%• 


» 


\ 


I 

» 


i 


4 


d 


i 


I 

I 

I 


i 



I 


i 


t 


I 






V 


% 


$ 



\ 






P>;’i 

r \ .S ..r ^ a BBH ^ 


■■•.• /4,V;I-',;,- " ■. , . ■ ’■» 

. . ■^. ^ • L ■ .'C ' ' • . si • 

.. t .,'lr. 



\ • 


r' V 


r 


4 ! 



>1 r « *;. 


r ' 




\-* 


•s 


I # 

. ^ 





'■m 


p ^ 


< . Cl^ti . 








r ' . '• 


>' ■ 


li, * y.'.!,''i'> ' ^ ■' f, ■ . /** ■• • ' > 




J-v • 


M- 

i f j * > 1 ^ W\ 






» .’ -y'.si 



1 

: , ,,^ ...^^. 

• *1, 

7^/. 




f/.-' 

s 

•/' , 

■V., ,-■■ ' * ^ 

' 


• , 'a 

y . / ' 

M * 


' V 


« 

p 

1 

■;■• '■', ■ 

: \ 

. j ' ■ . 

« 

* ' 

■\ • 

• . 



A < fe 


' • 

4 

« . - . 

• M 

t 1 


1 

. . ‘ ' 


» 

•s 

1 

« « 

• * ». ' >• t 

- . V 

« . 

> 

y 

. ( 

* 

1 * . 

•O " <• 







‘ ■ . V V; ■ - • . < .' 


*'■ ' '• ^ 1 

1 } 


J 


f ' ' 

I 

. s 




.'<r. 


' i 
^ 


■ / 


/. -'.J,' ■ '.''iV'^ 


h 


) ' 


I -.s 


,"'■5 




.•j 






^ 


M 

I • 


r I- < 



<* < 


f ■ 

■'/' ' ' 




v 


- «' I »• 


I •. 


'f » 







..-.,V.‘ 

■■ ,!* 


"I \ 





'iH' 

TO 




'\W'- 

■ ‘ Ip '( 


, 'lO'y) 

- ' * . ' i 


S 4 


' n -: 
^ » * 






‘> -A 

* I- ' 

•r ■ 




■ '■■' ) 

* » I 





V^./V -"y' ". V -J- 


* 11 * i * ** f ‘ 

, ’ ;iJ#>v,iL V, .' .v' 




• / 1 


■v-V 

’ ■ 


i *t»- r . 


• i' . 



•. 


•. 






V • 

' ’ » 


< 0 


■■ ' ■ SisM ■ 


\ » 4 J ' •’ 


. ► 

• , t 


:v 

•;. .. « 



/• 


^••71 ■;■ -^r ;■■ 

^ ' C » 


{ . 


•1 


• -r 


“ S : M’,-' 
A ' , • 


r y :> 


t ' 


i 


■■^ ^r.. 


p ^ V ' •' 


I , 








SSI •. . 

P: (■. ' 



» s 


M 


f 

‘^4 


' 'I ■ 


• J 

« 


‘ . ) 'l * * ■/' ' 

' Z !»•' •, 

■(/i , ‘‘V ^'i. - ^'.. ' '' ''•■ 

‘m . 





I 


^• .•4, 


' ;V * A • , 

‘ - *^ . ' * ‘y' •^‘'', ‘ * 

w 4., \: ■/•./, •'■' 


V ' 


‘ i.r 


* A . A . 


. »A • ' 




, « 


.A 


2 \ i 


.!' \ 

t 

I 





y I • 


■ . / 

.•r. . *'* *' 


^ • 




.1. « »* 




■- A • 

*■4. 1 - • 





